The Winter Prince
by Angel Baby1
Summary: On his first trip to Narnia, a lost Edmund is saved by a Wolf and taken to the Witch’s castle, where he becomes the Winter Prince, one of her greatest servants. Much later, his siblings arrive. But is Ed’s betrayal as complete as it seems? Movie-verse
1. Prologue

Author's note: This is my first foray into the writing world of Narnia. After reading several glorious stories by authors such as elecktrum and MyBlueOblivion and Sentimental Star (GOREADTHEIRWORKS), and seeing Caspian, and thumbing through the books again, I thought to myself, "Geh. I just love me some Edmund. And brotherly interactions."

So I got to daydreaming and wondering and rereading (fanfics). This is the result. It's all written, and other than this little prologue the chapters are long-ish. …I can't write simple things.

Some things in here (Ed's eventual full knightly title and the word "pavilion", to name a few) I kidnapped directly from elecktrum, who is my Northern star when it comes to Narnia. But don't worry, I asked if I could borrow them! This story is therefore dedicated to the patience and guidance of elecktrum, and the poking and prodding of my twin sister. Without them, I'd still be doodling this in a notebook at work. (So really it's all their fault.)

Please enjoy!

The Winter Prince

Prologue

Narnia was real.

"Lucy!" Edmund called, one arm wrapped around his middle for warmth. The other hand cupped his mouth to help his voice travel, not that it did much against all the snow.

Narnia was _real._

"Lucy! Where are you? I think I believe you now!"

Edmund Pevensie saw the lantern, felt the cold, heard snow crunching beneath his feet, and knew his sister had been telling the truth. He wasn't even sure why he'd doubted her in the first place, since she never lied. In the corner of his mind that wasn't always angry, he wished he'd believed her.

The rest of him was busy being cold and lost and wanted the familiar comfort of his little sister, even if she was annoying.

"_Lucy!"_

He wandered through the frozen woods for nearly an hour shouting for her, growing more desperate with every step he took. The world was getting darker as night approached, and the constant snow flurries covered his tracks before he even thought to look for them. He wondered if there would be any hope for him after the sun set. What if Lucy had already gone home? She would never know he'd come after her. She would never know he was missing, never know to look for him.

No one would ever know.

Edmund stumbled, landing in a snow bank and shaking so hard his teeth chattered. In that moment, what he wanted more than anything, even home, was his brother. Peter would take care of him. Peter would help, as he always did.

Or, rather, as he always had, before Edmund began to push him away.

_I don't want to die here_, Edmund thought, terrified and struggling to stand. He barely made it to his knees before collapsing again. _Please, I want to go home. Peter, help me…_

As the last of his strength faded, Edmund imagined he heard footsteps crunching toward him in the snow. A shadow fell over him, long in the twilight, and he tried to turn further onto his side to see if it was one of his siblings.

The cold nose of a dog pressed into his neck, snuffing gently. He thought the dog asked, "What are you? A Dwarf?"

_Dogs can't talk,_ he complained to himself. "Not a Dwarf," is what he whispered.

"What, then?" the dog demanded. "You are in the Queen's forest, speaking to a Wolf in her Secret Police. You will answer, creature. What are you?"

"'m Edmund," the boy managed, wondering why his last dream had to make so little sense.

"Edmund?" The dog—Wolf—nosed him again, firmly enough to push him onto his back. One large paw settled threateningly on his chest. Edmund was cold enough that he barely felt it. "A Faun of some sort?"

Edmund's attention drifted to the Wolf. It was big and dark, covered in coarse fur, but its eyes were intelligent and it was warm, so Edmund couldn't really find it in himself to dislike the Animal.

The Wolf bared its teeth at him in a snarl, growling low in its throat. The weight on Edmund's chest increased, and he wondered why it didn't hurt. "Answer me _now, _creature. What _are _you?"

"A boy," Edmund slurred, his eyes finally dropping shut. "I'm just a boy."

The Wolf startled and danced quickly away with a slight whine of confusion. "Son of Adam?" it gasped.

But Edmund fell into darkness and couldn't respond. His last conscious thought was for his siblings, and how much he hoped they would one day find him, even if he wasn't alive.

Bellus had been in the Queen's service less than one full lunar cycle when he stumbled upon the Son of Adam. Nothing in his training covered the proper Police response to such a discovery, especially not Captain Maugrim's standing orders that he "patrol the forest and not get in anybody's way with his incompetence."

Still, there was a _Son of Adam _freezing to death in Her Majesty's woods. Humans were important, somehow dangerous, and Bellus knew he had to alert someone to its presence. The question was whether he'd get in more trouble for leaving it to die or for presenting it (hopefully still alive) to the Queen.

And if he _did _decide to transport it to the Queen for her judgment, how would he move it? It was long and gangly, like a newborn foal, and would doubtlessly be dead before he could drag it back himself. Surely nothing as slight as this Son of Adam could survive in the snow much longer.

The best thing, Bellus decided, would be to try to get the Human back to Her Majesty so she could decide whether or not to kill it. If it died on the way, well, at least he could say he'd tried. That only left the matter of transportation. Taking a risk, Bellus lifted his nose to the twilight wind and left his self-appointed charge, seeking out any Animal big enough to take the Human's weight.

After some quick searching, he found a bay stallion. Bellus bullied and threatened mercilessly, throwing about his position in the Secret Police to secure the Horse's cooperation. Soon they were racing through the early evening toward Her Majesty's castle. The Human never stirred, but at that time Bellus didn't know enough about Humans to recognize this as a warning sign.

Captain Maugrim intercepted Bellus at the gates, taking his report to the Queen while Bellus and the Horse waited, panting, in the statue courtyard. At length they were led into the throne room and made to wait again. The Horse adjusted his substantial weight, shifting in the awkward way of all Horses as he carefully folded his legs to lie down. Bellus watched in confusion as the Horse gently took the Human's clothing in his teeth, tugging the spindly creature down until it was sheltered in the protective curve of the Horse's body. The Horse studied the Son of Adam as it settled before stretching his neck to tenderly nibble at its dark hair.

"The Queen may kill it yet," Bellus felt compelled to point out, his ears pricked almost perfectly forward in interest. "You should not grow too fond of it."

"I will help him live," the Horse vowed quietly, nosing the Human soothingly, "even if all I have is the warmth of my body."

Before the Queen arrived, the Son of Adam began to stir, shivering badly but fighting to open his eyes.

The Horse nuzzled him again, tilting his chin up. "Be calm, Son of Adam. Breathe deeply."

He shifted weakly, curing into the Horse's warmth. "Who…?" he managed to sigh in question.

"My name is Philip."

"Philip…I'm so _cold." _He trembled helplessly, trying to think, trying to remember."Where's Lucy? Did she get home?"

"You will be warmer soon if you stay close to me. Breathe deeply."

He obeyed, too miserable to be nasty and wanting to know where his sister was. The breath caught in his throat, turning into a deep, dry cough.

By the time he got control of it, the Queen had arrived. She studied the boy and Horse, ignoring completely the insignificant Wolf that found them both. "Tell me," she said, voice cool as her Winter, "are you a Son of Adam?"

She dazzled his tired eyes, all white and tall and beautiful. "I am," he whispered. "I'm Edmund." His dark gaze wandered, tracking the line of her crown down to her furs, her dress, the long crystal spear held easily in her hand. She was unlike anything he had ever seen, more wonderful than the Talking Animals, with a presence he could nearly _feel, _despite his cold.

Power, he realized. She had so much _power_, more than the Horse or the Wolf, more than Peter, more even than Dad.

But he could feel the kind Horse trembling around him, and he wondered absently exactly what kind of power it was.

"Well, Edmund." A glint of cunning turned into her smile, curving pale lips. "But you must be cold. Here, let me get you something warm to drink." She produced a small vial of liquid, sparing one drop for the floor. It turned into a steaming drink. When she inclined her head slightly, a Dwarf scurried out from behind her throne, taking up the goblet and transferring it into Edmund's numb fingers. Another figure trailed the Dwarf, hesitating at the edge of the shadows and waiting, watching. Hoping.

Edmund could barely hold the goblet, much less sip. What he did manage to take was too hot, burning his mouth and throat. It settled heavily in his stomach, and he thought with distant embarrassment that eventually he would probably bring it back up.

He wanted to go home. He wanted Peter. But all he could do was clutch the goblet for its heat and curl into Philip for his warmth.

"My Wolves tell me you were lost in the forest. What did you seek, Son of Adam?"

"My sister," he said miserably, pressing his forehead into the Horse's neck. "She came here earlier, but I couldn't find her."

"Your sister, you say."

Bellus looked up from the Human sharply, unused to the slight note of triumph in the Queen's voice. Her cold eyes were locked on the small Son of Adam, watching him as Captain Maugrim sometimes watched a suspect he knew would flee and make good sport.

It was not a pleasant expression.

"Do you have two sisters, Edmund? And perhaps a brother?"

The sick spreading through Edmund fogged his mind, but he nodded despite it. He wondered if his siblings had noticed he was missing yet.

"I see. And are they here in Narnia as well?"

"No," he whispered, thoroughly wretched. "Peter and Susan didn't even believe Lucy about Narnia. I didn't either, until I was here. But it doesn't matter. Lucy's gone home, and now they'll never find me."

The Queen descended from her throne, casting the Human in her shadow. "Will they come back to Narnia?" Edmund shook his head, his face still hidden in the Horse's neck. "Dear one, why would you think that? Surely they would not leave you here, cold and lost and sick." She bent low to whisper in his ear, her wand very near to touching the quietly frantic Horse. "Don't they miss you? Don't they love you?"

Edmund gave a tiny sound that made Bellus shift uncomfortably, suppressing an answering whine of sympathy. Only Philip could feel his slow, hot tears. "They probably don't even notice I'm gone. They never do."

"Poor little Son of Adam," the White Witch murmured soothingly, stroking her pale hand over his dark hair. He shivered helplessly, taken by the building fever she stoked with her voice. "Do you know who I am?"

He shook his head again, wanting to listen but panting with some unnamed fear. Her words burned him, and he was filled with the painful desire to stay, to hear her commands and follow.

"I am the Queen of Narnia," she said, "and if you stay with me, I will make you my Prince. When your brother and sisters someday come to Narnia as you have, they will be your subjects, your servants, and regret every moment they ignored you. Isn't that what you want?"

To be noticed. To be wanted. To be loved. He gasped, twisting away from the Horse as he fever spiked. _Yes, _he thought. But she needed him to say it, even as her fever took that ability from him.

She smiled to conceal her frustration, an expression that made Bellus shrink away and stopped Philip's breathing. The Witch beckoned toward her throne without looking, summoning the old Faun that lingered there. "This is a doctor who lives near my castle," she said gently. "I brought him here just for you. Maugrim will show you the special room I have, a room fit for royalty. It, also, is for you. You will go to sleep a mere Son of Adam, but when you wake, dear one…you shall be my Prince."

Edmund's fever-bright eyes watched her, weighing the truth of her promise even as he tried to grasp the meaning behind her words. He fell into unconsciousness still straining to understand.

"Majesty," Maugrim growled when the boy collapsed, slinking forward with his eyes locked on Philip and his hackles raised, "what of this Horse?"

"I care nothing for it," the Queen answered dismissively, standing briskly. She turned her back on the collected creatures. "Leave him for the boy. After all, my new pet will need a good mount when he begins his service."

Bellus tried not to flinch again, knowing the pride of Horses and wondering what this one's response to such an insult would be. But Philip didn't react other than to shift slightly, adjusting the Human's weight against his large chest. After the Queen was gone, the elderly Faun approached Edmund carefully, checking his temperature, heart rate, and breathing.

"He is quite ill," the Faun said softly, tweaking his spectacles to distract himself from the terrifying presence of Wolves. "He will need a warm bed and careful watching. I will need to make some teas and medicine."

Maugrim's upper lip curled in disdain. "Make all the teas you want, rickety old Faun. It is no concern of _mine_."

Bellus startled. "But, Captain, the Queen said—"

"What she said," Maugrim snapped, snarling at the younger Wolf, "was for the Human's benefit. You will find a place for him to recover or to die, and you will see to their security. The Horse and the Faun are not to leave his company. Even _you _couldn't make a mistake with all your prisoners in one room. Take care of it or I will take care of you, once and for all."

Maugrim loped away, sending up a call for his lieutenants. Four of them materialized from darkened corners of the room, following hot on his trail as he raced for the Western Wood in search of more Humans.

When Bellus would have stood rooted in shock, the old Faun sighed deeply, shaking his head. "There you have it, then. Take us to a room, Wolf, and we will do as he says."

Bellus growled under his words. "And what is that, old doctor?"

The Faun laid one hand across Edmund's forehead, soaking in the unnatural heat. "We will watch him recover," he murmured, curling his hand into a fist and drawing it away, "or we will watch him die."

Caught in fever, Edmund slept, and his sleep was filled with dreams. They started as scenes of war and terror in England, quickly replaced by Wolves and Queens and endless Winter. There were Fauns and Horses, too, but nothing he did in his dreams could save any of them. They died, all the creatures of Narnia, all those who would not bow to the Queen. She made him her Prince, and he killed in her name. His brother and sisters knelt and then fell, and Winter reigned victorious.

The world shifted. Heated. Ice and anger turned to fever and fire and red banners under a golden sun. The Western Wood melted into spring. Peter stood as High King. Edmund knelt and then fell.

And across the world, a Lion roared.


	2. Chapter One

AN: Well! Apparently you guys are made of awesome sauce. Hurray for that, and for lovely reviews!

This doesn't start where I think you think it's going to start. Enjoy!

The Winter Prince:

Chapter One

Edmund fell out of the wardrobe gasping. He hit the ground as he'd once been taught, absorbing the shock without causing himself any injury. Sunlight spilled through the windows, and he tried to remember what time it had been when he first followed Lucy into Narnia. With a small thrill of concern, he realized he couldn't.

It had just been so long ago…

"Edmund? What're you doing down there?"

Ed jerked a little and looked up, still panting harshly, still lying on his side and trembling, sweat staining his forehead. "Lucy," he gasped.

His little sister stood in the doorway to the spare room, sunlight haloed in her hair. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He thought he would burst into tears just looking at her, whole and healthy despite all his nightmares, but he didn't want to frighten her. Still, it was a near thing.

Something in his expression, or maybe the way he made no effort to scramble out of his graceless tangle of limbs, or just the dazed glint in his eyes, turned Lucy's amused smile into a concerned frown. "Are you all right?" she asked, crossing the room quickly to kneel by him. She rested her small hand on his shoulder, peering at him to try and see where he was hurt. "Should I get Peter? Or maybe Susan?"

Ed shook his head, clearing his throat harshly as he pushed himself off the floor. Lucy helped him sit up, and he covered her hand with his when he was settled. "Thanks, Lu," he whispered, squeezing once gently.

He wouldn't look at her, keeping his face turned down and away, and seemed so sad that she couldn't help but throw herself at him in a full-body hug. He rocked back with the force of it, and she held on tightly to get in as much love as she could before he pushed her away again.

Except this time he didn't. This time, his thin arms wrapped around her fiercely, pulling her close so he could hide his face in her hair. "I'm so sorry," he gasped, trembling again. "I'm so sorry for everything, Lucy. I never meant to— It just all got away from me so quickly, and I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry I was so awful. I'm sorry."

Lucy held on for a while longer before sitting back. She pretended not to see the tears he quickly brushed from his eyes. "It's okay, Edmund. I'm not mad or anything. You haven't even been nasty or horrid today. Why are you so upset?"

He shook his head slightly, finally setting her away from him. "It's nothing. I was just so cruel. It's not important now."

"Cruel?" She frowned, thinking. Her eyes wandered to the wardrobe, to the door that still hung partially open. "Oh!" she exclaimed, startled and excited when her gaze snapped back to his. "Edmund! Did you get to Narnia, too? Isn't it wonderful?"

"Isn't what wonderful?"

Lucy and Edmund jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected question. They turned to find Peter standing in the doorway, watching them with a frown shadowing his face. His arms were crossed, his expression mildly distrustful when it shifted to Edmund. "Where have you been all morning? You're not causing trouble again, are you?"

At first, Edmund sat up, his usual scowl in place. "I wasn't—" Then he seemed to collapse into himself, expressive face shuttering closed. "No, Peter," he said resignedly. "There's no trouble."

Peter's suspicion spiked, but Lucy's insistence that everything was fine forced him to let his doubt simmer. Susan found them as they were leaving the room and corralled them into a game of cricket.

Somewhat predictably, it ended in chaos when Edmund managed to put a ball through one of the Professor's windows. Though the younger Pevensie didn't respond to Peter's admonishing, "Oh, well done, Ed", his lips pursed as his eyes darkened.

Not only was the window ruined, but one of the historical artifacts had been knocked over in a large, messy heap.

"I'm dead," Edmund realized, heart sinking as he took in the damage.

"Don't be so dramatic," Susan said, trying to be reassuring. Then she ruined it by gasping "The Macready!" in response to approaching footfalls in the hallway.

"Quick!" Lucy urged, grabbing Edmund's hand. "We'll hide you!"

"Where?" he demanded, letting himself be dragged in a herd of fleeing siblings. "She knows this place better than we do!"

Several dead ends proved him right. They entered their last hope, the spare room, and were faced with Lucy's wardrobe. The two youngest traded looks filled with fear and excitement and delight, hesitating only a moment before charging forward. Edmund yanked the door open, helping Lucy in before beckoning his older siblings. "It's in here or out there!"

Peter and Susan stared helplessly at each other before the sound of an approaching, irate housekeeper propelled them into the small wardrobe after their delusional brother and sister.

They fell through the other end into snow. Their resulting gasps were only partially due to the sudden cold.

"Oh," Susan breathed, looking around in wonder and confusion. "_Oh. _It's not possible…"

Peter eventually noticed Lucy, grinning at them both like a loon, triumphant and no little bit smug. He offered an apologetic smile. "I don't suppose saying we're sorry would _quite_ cover it?"

"No," Lucy agreed, hands behind her back. "But this might!" Her unexpected snowball caught him straight in the face.

Peter sputtered and gasped, not enough air in him to laugh. At last he gathered himself to launch a counterattack, dragging Susan into the battle with him.

Edmund, as usual, soured the fun by reacting with a frown when he was finally pegged with a snowball. He brushed the snow off his shoulder impatiently, scanning the forest in a quick sweep of dark eyes. "We shouldn't stay here," he said, keeping his attention focused on the shadows. "It isn't safe."

"Oh, Edmund," Lucy said sadly, picking through the snow to take her brother's hand. "You _did _come to Narnia. Didn't you meet anyone kind?"

"No," he told her at length, his smile reflecting the sadness still bright in her eyes. Then he gave her hand a little squeeze. "And yes."

"Look, if Edmund's already had a bad experience here, we shouldn't force him to have another." Susan rubbed her arms for warmth, shifting back toward the wardrobe. "Let's leave before something else happens."

"We should stay," Edmund insisted stubbornly. "Just not _here."_

All eyes swung to Peter, who grinned at his littlest sister. "I think Lucy should decide."

Lucy sucked in an excited breath. "I want you all to meet Mr. Tumnus!" She swung Edmund's arm by swinging her own, beaming up at him. "He's simply marvelous, and I'm sure he'll make up for whatever happened last time. He'll have tea and biscuits, Edmund! You'll love them!"

Edmund's expression was quiet but his voice warm when he said, "I'm sure they're wonderful, Lu." His eyes swept up to meet Peter's. "Let's go, then."

"We'll freeze!" Susan protested.

Peter slid by her to gather some coats from the back of the wardrobe where it turned into woods. "We'll just borrow these." He handed one to each of his sisters. "And if you think about it logically, we're not even taking them out of the wardrobe."

Lucy giggled, snuggling into her coat.

The eldest Pevensie schooled all amusement from his face before turning to Edmund with the fluffiest lady's coat he could find.

Edmund, already bundled in a sleek black cloak and hood, lifted one eyebrow. "It's a little full for your build, but otherwise it suits you."

Peter scowled, his joke expertly turned against him. "Spoilsport," he muttered, tossing the dark coat aside to pull on one for himself. The siblings arranged themselves in a wandering line, youngest to oldest, and set off through the snow.

The closer they got to Mr. Tumnus' house, the tenser Edmund became. His shoulders hunched defensively; his eyes darted in search of some unnamed threat; he jumped at shadows. Though Lucy continued to chatter about what a grand time they would have, Peter and Susan watched their little brother with rising concern.

By the time they could see the Faun's house, Peter and Susan were on high alert, made anxious by Edmund's restlessness.

"This was a bad idea," Susan fretted.

Then Lucy noticed Tumnus' door hanging broken in its frame and took off with a gasp of alarm.

"Wait!" Edmund cried, immediately giving chance. "They could still be there! Lucy, _wait!"_

Despite her small lead, the others caught up to Lucy before she could burst into Tumnus' eerily quiet house. Peter took her hand, picking his way through the rubble and destroyed treasures.

"Who would do this?" Lucy asked, sounding wounded.

Peter turned to Edmund, who stooped to lift a broken picture frame from the ground. "You said they might still be here. Who's 'they', Edmund?"

Edmund didn't reply, studying the picture. Something like regret flickered in his eyes, but before Peter could ask him about it, Susan pushed a paper into his hands.

"Read it," she instructed, more worried now than ever. "We shouldn't be here, Peter."

"Faun Tumnus is hereby charged with high treason against Her Imperial Majesty Jadis, Queen of Narnia," Peter read, eyebrows knitting with concern. "For spreading fallacious propaganda, comforting her enemies, and fraternizing with Humans. Signed: Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police." He looked up at his siblings helplessly. "Long Live the Queen."

"We _really _should leave," Susan insisted, waiting by the door.

"We have to help Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy protested, turning to Edmund beseechingly.

"He was arrested just for _being _with a Human," Edmund pointed out, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "We actually _are _Humans. What is it you think we can do?"

"Don't you see? _I'm _the Human," Lucy said miserably. "It's my fault. She must have found out he helped me!"

"Maybe we could call the police," Peter suggested.

Susan snatched the arrest warrant from his hand. "These _are _the police!"

Peter frowned at her before giving Lucy a bracing smile. "Don't worry, Lu. We'll find him."

"How?" Edmund demanded. "You're just a child! Same as us! What could we possibly do other than make things worse?"

Lucy looked on the verge of tears. The only thing that prevented Peter from chastising his little brother about his lack of understanding was a tiny "_Psst!" _from outside.

The four traded an uncertain glace before peaking through the doorway.

"Did that bird just…_psst _us?" Susan asked incredulously.

While his siblings cautiously approached the Bird, Edmund hung back by the Faun's house. The Bird turned out to be a herald for a Beaver, who was guarded and suspicious in his advance.

So it was Narnians who made the first move. _Now _things would get interesting.

As the Beaver inched carefully toward the Humans, Peter, who clearly had no idea what was going on, offered his hand and began to call softly.

Edmund had to cover his mouth with one hand to smother his grin when the Beaver snapped, "Well I ain't gonna smell it, if that's what you want." Peter's expression was a study in amazement and rue, but the Beaver paid it no attention. Instead he focused on the littlest girl. "Lucy Pevensie?"

Her eyes widened. When the Beaver presented her handkerchief, she accepted it with a gasp. "But I gave this to Mr.—"

"Tumnus," the Beaver agreed. "He got it to me right before he was taken. But it isn't safe here. Follow me. We'll get further in."

Lucy turned to her siblings, small face unnaturally serious. "It's the trees," she whispered, glancing around. "Mr. Tumnus said some of them are on _her _side."

After a bit of arguing, the four trailed quietly behind their Beaver guide, Edmund keeping furthest back in an effort to go unnoticed. It was a tactic that backfired upon reaching Beaver's dam, since all his reluctance had done was make the Animal suspicious.

But then they were inside the dam and Peter wanted to know what they could do for the Faun, and Beaver said the magic words: "Aslan in on the move."

Edmund felt a thrill so sharp it made him sit back on his stair. "Aslan," he breathed.

"Who's Aslan?" Susan prompted.

The Animal couple stared at them until Beaver abruptly started laughing. Mrs. Beaver elbowed him when she realized the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve were sincere in their ignorance.

So Beaver told them about Aslan, about the Prophesy, about Cair Paravel and its four thrones, and the army waiting for their command.

Susan reached her limit. "I'm sorry," she said shakily. "We're not who you think we are. Thank you for your hospitality, but now we reallyhave togo."

Peter gripped Lucy's shoulder to lessen the blow and turned to gather his last wayward sibling. "Ed, it's time to—Ed?" But Edmund was gone. Peter gritted his teeth. "I'm going to kill him."

"That may not be necessary," Beaver said darkly. He traded a heavy, angry look with his wife. "Or if it is, you may not be alone. Has Edmund ever been to Narnia before? For an extended time?"

"No," Susan told them firmly, yanking on her coat. "Of course not!"

"I found him by the wardrobe," Lucy admitted suddenly, concerned. "He might have come here after I left. But I don't know how long he was here, only that he seemed to have had a bad time."

"If your brother is who I think he is," Beaver growled, leading the charge outside, "it wasn't _him _who had a hard time of it!"

They found his footprints into the snow outside the dam, veering off in the direction of the Witch's looming castle, and gave chase.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

While his siblings were learning about the Prophesy in its fullness, Edmund was running through night and the surrounding woods, searching the shadows for a familiar form. He paused in the first clearing he reached, waiting under the pale glow of moonlight.

Less than a minute later, three Wolves slinked out of the forest line, circling him as they approached. One held a long pouch in his mouth. When the other two paused, he continued forward, laying his burden at Edmund's feet. "My lord," he rumbled softly, keeping his head lowered in a bow. "Welcome back."

"How long was I gone?" Edmund asked, scooping the package up. It contained weapons: a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a dagger. The bow and quiver he slung over his shoulder; the dagger was strapped to his right thigh.

"Not even a week," the Wolf assured him.

"And Tumnus?"

"Arrested before dawn yesterday."

Edmund studied the Wolf, searching for new scars or injuries. At last he smiled, a faint and too serious expression. "Thank you, Bellus. Where's Philip?"

"Waiting for you just outside the forest."

"He doesn't move quietly enough in the trees," one of the other Wolves said, lips pulled back in a lupine grin.

"Just as well." Edmund motioned for the Wolves to lead the way, running swiftly to match their easy pace. "My brother and sisters are here."

"Then we have much to do," Bellus said, loping at his side. "But we are prepared, my lord. You worked hard to ready us."

"Yes," Edmund agreed quietly, eyes dark and mouth pressed in a thin line, "I certainly did."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

By the time Peter and his sisters caught sight of Edmund, he was thundering across a starlit tundra on horseback, black cloak billowing around him. The Witch's frozen castle towered against its backdrop of night sky, icy turrets rising from it like grasping, bony fingers. The youngest Pevensie boy was flanked by three Wolves, and Beaver cursed upon seeing him.

Peter shouted for his brother, surging forward to launch a rescue effort.

Beaver grabbed his coat and tugged him roughly back. "Don't waste your time," he snapped. "He ain't exactly kidnapped, is he? Hurry, we have to get Mrs. Beaver and reach Aslan before _he_ tells that Witch where to find us."

"Edmund would never do that," Lucy cried. "He's our brother!"

"He's a _traitor!" _Beaver shouted back. "He's been in Narnia nearly a year, working for _her _all that time! He's the worst of her followers, nasty and heartless!"

"You take that back," Peter demanded harshly, grabbing a handful of Beaver's scruff.

"It's my _friends _he's been catching all this time! Stags and Bears and Dogs as loyal as they come, all gone thanks to _him." _Beaver made an angry sound and huffed, trying to calm himself enough to make his fur lay flat again."And if he's supposed to be one of the _Four,_" he said softly, eyes cast hopelessly to the ground,_ "_we're as good as ruined. We need to get this information to Aslan _now._"

"I don't understand," Susan said, desperately confused and frightened. "What are you saying? What's Edmund done?"

"How do you know it's even him?" Lucy added.

Beaver refused to say another word until they were back in his den and packing. He made Mrs. Beaver break their hearts, since he was too angry to be kind. "About a year ago," she told them briskly, packing provisions for their journey, "a Son of Adam appeared in Narnia, working for the Witch. There are several Animals who follow him, but he's best known for traveling with a Horse and three Wolves. We don't know how he came to be here or why he works for the Witch, but he's a terrible agent for her cause, taking entire families in the night."

Beaver huffed again, angry and sick with doubt. How would Aslan fix _this? _"They say he once met a company of Aslan's soldiers, about fifteen or so." Beaver clenched his paws, thinking of the good Animals, the friends, he'd had among those fifteen. "Caught them by surprise in the Western Wood. Word is he's a right devil with a blade. None of them was ever heard from again."

"It can't be Edmund," Lucy gasped, tears flooding her eyes. "You're wrong. It can't be him."

From a distance, they heard the haunting melody of Wolves in hunt. "Hurry!" Beaver shouted, urging everyone forward into a concealed tunnel. "Badger and I dug it, just in case."

"But _Edmund!" _Lucy cried, resisting Peter when he tried to pull her in.

Mrs. Beaver caught Lucy's cheeks between her paws, smiling at her sadly as she brushed some of the young girl's tears away. "In Narnia he's called the Winter Prince, my poor dear," she said quietly. "And he belongs completely to the White Witch, who named him. There's nothing more any of us can do for him. The best chance he has is for us to get to Aslan, for Aslan is the true King of Narnia, and only he knows what can be done for someone like your brother." She nuzzled Lucy's nose comfortingly. "If you want to save him, we _must _get to Aslan. For Edmund's sake, we cannot be caught by the Wolves he sent for us."

Lucy sobbed once, swallowing the rest for later. She let Peter tug her quickly through the tunnel and wondered what had happened to the brother who cried for her forgiveness mere hours earlier.

_Oh Edmund, _she thought, and could come up with little else. _Oh Edmund._

_What have you done?_


	3. Chapter Two

AN: Okay so! I always mean to go a little longer between posts, but I'm so excited to see what everyone's reactions will be that I just can't! The Narnia community is so warm and enthusiastic. I just don't have the staying power necessary to resist you all.

This chapter should answer a few questions. (And spawn a few more!) It's also where knowledge of the first Narnia movie becomes necessary, because right from the first sentence I'm basically dropping you into a particular scene and running with it sans lengthy explanation (too late). I just wanted to focus on the parts that are different. So!

Enjoy!

The Winter Prince:

Chapter Two

Once the Wolves were gone, the three remaining Pevensie children scrambled out of their hiding place to check on the Fox who had saved them.

"I wish I could say their bark was worse than their bite," the Fox tried to joke, but a sharp yelp of pain while Mrs. Beaver tended him spoiled the effort.

"Hold still," she admonished. "You're worse than Beaver on bath day!"

"Worst day of the year," Beaver confided to Lucy with a slight chuckle.

"That's all the healing I have time for," the Fox said, getting carefully to his paws.

Susan gasped. "You're leaving?"

The Fox offered her a vulpine bow. "It's been an honor, my queen, but I am under orders from Aslan Himself. Troops have been gathered in the west, and I am off to fetch them."

"You've seen Aslan!" Beaver exclaimed.

"What's he like?" Mrs. Beaver asked excitedly.

"Like everything we've ever heard," the Fox replied softly. He nodded to the Pevensies. "He'll be a great help fighting the Witch."

"We're not planning to fight any Witch," Susan corrected, arms folded across her chest in an unconscious bid for comfort.

The Fox turned desperately to the eldest Human. "Surely," he implored, "King Peter…"

Peter struggled helplessly, looking to his sisters for help. Finally he turned back to the Fox, apologetic and powerless. "We just want our brother back."

"Your brother?" the Fox asked, badly confused as he looked around. "Where is he?"

"The Witch has him," Lucy said softly, burrowing into Susan's side. Her sister lifted one arm, circling it around Lucy's trembling shoulders.

"She don't have nothing that wasn't freely given," Beaver added bitterly. "He's the Winter Prince, and a traitor to all Narnians."

Instead of reacting with shock or distress, the Fox's hackles rose. He sunk close to the ground, teeth bared on a snarl. "Guard your words, Beaver, for they will travel quickly in this wood. You speak of that which you cannot know. Keep your _own _council and do not burden the rest of us with it!"

"It's the truth!" Beaver insisted, startled by the fierce reaction. "We saw him ride into her castle with our own eyes!"

"Hush, Beaver," Mrs. Beaver urged quickly, wondering herself at the Fox's vehemence.

"Do you know Edmund?" Lucy asked, anxious for any sign of the goodness she knew still existed in her brother. "What happened to him here, really?"

The Fox hesitated, glancing at all the expectant gazes turned to him. At last he sighed, deep and regretful, ears and tail drooping. "Get to Aslan," he told them resignedly. "Word does travel _quickly _in this wood. More than that I dare not say." He bowed to them all, pausing by Lucy to nuzzle her just below her ear. "Keep your faith, noble queen," he whispered quickly, quietly, and only for her. "As you have surely guessed, there are untold depths to this story. _Believe, _your Highness, and run to Aslan." The Fox backed away, still smiling at her. "Make haste, my king and queens. I will do what I can for your army."

He took off into the trees before Peter could form another protest.

"What did he say?" Susan asked, looking down at her thoughtful little sister.

Lucy shook herself out of her thoughts, turning to the rest of the party with a smile. "He said to hurry."

So that is what they did.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Because she was content with his service, the White Witch hardly ever saw Edmund. She left Maugrim to deal with his reports and assignments, retaining the old Faun doctor to see to any malady or injury he might acquire. As a reward for his loyalty, she let Edmund choose his own warriors. The number he kept was fluid, growing when individuals appealed to him, shrinking as he dealt with those who crossed him. His two constants were Philip and Bellus, who almost never left his side.

For his part, Edmund knew that Maugrim's position as his superior was another backwards insult. After all, why should a prince report to the Police Captain when there was a queen or, failing that, generals?

But Maugrim didn't like Edmund and tried his best not to be around the boy, so Edmund counted his blessings and embraced the freedom that came of being disliked by his supervisor.

To nurture Maugrim's hatred a little further, Edmund took his time before making his report. He retired to his room, changing from his English clothing into practical Narnian winter wear, including strategic layering of warm long-sleeved shirts, sturdy riding boots and breaches, and his signature black cloak. Next he located and cleaned his sword, then his hunting knife, and restrung his bow. Before he could start fletching new arrows to fill his quiver, Maugrim prowled into his room, rumbling in the usual threatening manner.

Edmund faced him with a bored expression, absently tapping his sharpened hunting knife against one thigh. His report was characteristically brief: "The mission was a success. My brother and sisters are in Narnia."

Maugrim's lips pulled back in a snarl. "So where are they?"

One dark eyebrow arched lazily as Edmund mocked the Wolf with a placid expression. "I was only told to bring them to Narnia, not to the castle. Besides, they were waylaid by a suspicious Narnian. Bringing them with me risked my own capture, and then what use would I be?"

"You assume you have use as you are," the Captain growled, hackles raised as he backed out of the room. He took off down the hall in a sprint, calling for his lieutenants as he caught Edmund's trail to trace it back to his siblings.

Edmund moved to his window to watch the Wolves vanish into the forest, racing toward Beaver's Dam.

"We don't have much time," Bellus murmured, creeping out of the shadows by Edmund's ancient bed.

Edmund was still staring through the window after Maugrim, one hand clenched in a trembling fist around his knife's hilt. "Peter will take care of them," he said, needing to hear the words. "He won't let anything happen to them." The look he sent Bellus was pitifully young, searching for reassurance and understanding.

Bellus bared his fangs in a sneer. "So now you're that little boy again, wanting his nursemaid? The doctor has long been sent away, and Philip even now gathers your Guard as _you ordered him to. _We have no time for this!"

The boy shook himself, building his determination on the steel resolve of his most trusted warrior. "Right you are," he replied, shoving the knife in its sheath on his thigh. "We have much to do while the night remains. But there is one thing I feel we must add to the end of our little list of chores." He turned in a confidant swirl of black cloak, striding from his room without pause.

Knowing what he meant, Bellus grinned, trotting by Edmund's side as they swept down a narrow hall. "And what is that, my lord?"

Edmund sent him a pleasant smile. "Why, a visit with dear Mr. Tumnus, of course! After all, he's a friend of my sister's." His smile turned grim and just a degree malicious. "We mustn't leave without saying hello."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

After a miserable night spent tromping through frozen woods, Peter wasn't sure how much more patience he could muster for their Narnian guides. "If he tells us to hurry up one more time," the eldest Pevensie threatened, bending so Lucy could hop on his back for a ride, "I'm going to turn him into a big, fluffy hat!"

Lucy giggled into his neck.

"Hurry up, Son of Adam!" Beaver called. "We don't have all day!"

"He is getting kind of bossy," Lucy agreed wisely, hugging Peter.

The distant ring of sleigh bells interrupted whatever Susan meant to say in reply. The Pevensies looked around curiously. Their confused interest took a sharp turn into panic when Beaver cried, "It's her! _Run!"_

Peter helped Lucy slide back to the ground, grabbing her hand and running for the relative safety of the forest. They hid in the lee of a fallen tree, huddled together in fright.

The sleigh clattered to a halt above their heads. They saw a shadow lean over their shelter for a moment before withdrawing. Beaver waited another minute before heading out to check for safety.

"You're no use to Narnia dead," he told Peter when the boy would have gone too.

"Neither are you, Beaver," Mrs. Beaver said, reaching for him.

He sent her a cheeky grin and scampered out of their hiding place. A moment later, he popped his head over the log, grinning in joy and relief and nearly scaring them all to death. "I hope you've been good, because there's someone here to see you!"

That someone was Father Christmas, resplendent in the traditional clothes of his fables.

"Merry Christmas, sir!" Lucy cried, scrambling over with an excited smile.

"It certainly is, Lucy!" he laughed, passing his warm gaze over her siblings as well. "Thanks to you."

"I thought there was no Christmas in Narnia," Susan said, trying to make things make sense. But honestly, Father _Christmas?_ She looked helplessly at Peter, who shrugged with a grin and stepped forward to join Lucy.

"There wasn't," Father Christmas agreed. "Not for a hundred years. But now the Witch's power is crumbling." He dug in his sleigh, hauling out an enormous bag.

"Presents!" Lucy cheered, clapping her hands in delight.

"Yes!" Father Christmas said with another laugh. He pulled some from his bag, holding them out to Lucy. "These are for you." The first was a small diamond decanter filled with red liquid. "The juice of the fire flower," he explained. "If you or one of your friends is wounded, one drop of this cordial will restore them. And though I do not expect you to use it, this." He handed her a small dagger, which Lucy took without hesitation.

"I think I could be brave enough," she said, looking at Father Christmas but thinking of Edmund and how they would probably have to save him.

He must have understood something of her thoughts because he ran a soothing hand over her hair, smiling at her kindly. "I'm sure you could, but battles are ugly affairs." Then he turned to Susan, pressing weapons into her hands. "Trust this bow," he instructed, "for it does not easily miss."

"What happened," she wondered a little weakly, "to 'battles are ugly affairs'?"

Father Christmas chuckled, handing her a delicate white horn. "While you don't seem to have trouble making yourself heard, when you put this horn to your lips and blow it, wherever you are, help will come."

"Thanks," Susan murmured, cradling her gifts.

Finally he turned to Peter, who fought not to fidget. "These are tools, Peter," he said, giving him a sword and shield, "not toys. The time to use them may be soon at hand. Bear them well." Peter drew the sword, studying it a moment before meeting Father Christmas's eyes and nodding firmly.

"Well!" the jolly man laughed. "I'd best be off! Winter is almost over and things do pile up when you've been gone a hundred years."

"Wait!" Lucy begged, reaching out to grab one of his sleeves. "What about Edmund? Isn't there anything for Edmund?"

Beaver made another angry sound, but Father Christmas merely stilled, watching Lucy sadly. He crouched to be on her level, reaching out to cup her cheek in one hand. "I have not met your brother, dear one," he said softly. "The words you have must be comfort enough for now."

Tears welled in Lucy's expressive eyes. She struggled to be brave, to keep her faith as the Fox had urged. She drew a deep breath and nodded, clutching her presents.

Father Christmas smiled gently. "I will try to seek him out," he promised, "to see what can be done for him. It is Christmas for him too, after all."

Lucy's smile was wet and trembling but filled with relief.

Susan hesitated a long moment. Finally, because some part of her needed to know, she asked, "How can you? Isn't he with the Witch?"

Father Christmas straightened, heaving his sack back into the sleigh. "I fear it may be worse than that, your Majesties," he replied cryptically, climbing in after his bag. "Get to Aslan quickly. He will know what to do. Merry Christmas, and long live Aslan!"

Peter watched him go for a while, thoughts tangled and confused before one realization pushed his terrified concern aside. "He said winter was almost over," he recalled. "You know what that means." He turned to his family, forehead drawn in worry. "No more ice."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Edmund walked into the dungeon the next morning with his head held high, replacing the guards with his own warriors. No one asked questions, mostly because Tumnus was charged with treason and Edmund had a reputation for his deadly low tolerance of traitors. They were his special favorites to deal with.

When he reached the cell, he and Tumnus studied each other for a long moment.

At last Tumnus, broken by punishment, observed, "You're Lucy Pevensie's brother."

Edmund inclined his head. "How did you know?"

One corner of Tumnus' mouth quirked in an almost-smile. He tapped a finger against his own nose. "You have…the same nose." Tumnus struggled to shift into a more dignified position to face his executioner with whatever honor he had left. "I would never have thought she could have a creature like you in her family," he panted, exhausted by pain.

"A creature like me?" Edmund echoed emotionlessly, gaze cold and unreadable as he stared down at the Faun.

"I know you," Tumnus spat. Fury rose in him for Lucy, for Narnia, for the Prophesy that would fall at the feet of this ruthless Son of Adam.

"You know _of _me," the boy corrected easily.

"You're the Winter Prince. Don't deny it, your lackeys give you away!"

Edmund shrugged. "I have been called that, yes. You are Faun Tumnus, paid operative of the Queen. Don't deny it," he mocked with a wicked smirk, "your scarf gives you away." The Faun seethed uselessly. Edmund cocked his head like a curious bird, studying his captive. "Why are you here, Faun Tumnus? You were safe in the Queen's employ. Why turn on that?"

"Because I believe in a free Narnia!" Tumnus cried, defiant in the face of his own death. "And if being traitor to that _Witch _means I was able to help Lucy Pevensie on her path to the _true _throne of Narnia, then I am _glad _to die for it!"

Edmund's bland expression broke enough to allow a small, pleased smile through. "Well said, Mr. Tumnus." Tumnus blinked, utterly confused. Edmund turned to his Wolf, holding out one hand. "Bellus, the key."

In a few moments, Tumnus was free, still staring in wretched bewilderment. Would they kill him now? Would it be here or outside where the Witch could watch for amusement?

Edmund helped the battered Faun onto the back of a large Snow Leopard that slunk into the dungeon by way of a small hidden tunnel. "Be silent," Edmund warned Tumnus, motioning to a Cheetah, the closest of his planted prison guards. He got a brief nod in response before the Cheetah rushed soundlessly from her post, returning moments later with the remaining three guards that had been stationed on his way down. "The others are waiting for us with Philip by the southern courtyard," Edmund murmured to his soldiers. He turned to Tumnus. "We'll have to move more quickly than we should with you in your condition," he apologized, "but you need to stay quiet. If we're caught here, we're all dead. The Witch has no mercy."

Tumnus nodded mutely, shocked and reeling. Was it possible that all of Narnia had been _wrong_ about the Winter Prince? But then what of the Narnians he had captured and killed, the families he had taken, the lives he had ruined?

"Later," Bellus whispered. "There are untold depths to this story. For now, be still and silent." He surged forward to run point on their escape

Tumnus obeyed.

They met Philip and nearly twenty other Animals in the courtyard, regrouping for only a moment before sneaking away en masse toward the forest. When they made it there, masked by the dawn glare of the sun reflecting off show, when they helped Tumnus onto Philip behind their leader, when they left the castle's shadow and raced for their army waiting in the west, they believed they were truly free.

Edmund, Bellus, and Philip knew better and set the pace at the edge of their endurance.

They knew she would never be satisfied with anything less than blood payment for their deceit. It would not be possible to escape her wrath, not while she lived. They ran, to Aslan and salvation, and prayed they would reach the Lion's protection before the Witch discovered the true nature of their loyalty.

After all, they were of no use to Narnia dead.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ginarrbrik, searching for the Winter Prince on his Queen's orders, was the one who uncovered the depth of the Edmund's treachery. When the sun hung highest in the blue sky, he cautiously brought her the news, worried that her reaction would lead to his own death.

After an initial burst of fury, the Queen calmed alarmingly. She even smiled as she ordered Ginarrbrik to fetch the bow that hung behind her throne.

It was made entirely of ice so cold it burned his hands. The string was needle-fine icicles all woven together, stretched taut from end to end. Ginarrbrik wondered what its purpose was, since anything so delicate would surely shatter to a thousand pieces if used.

His Queen was standing at the window of the Winter Prince's bedroom, still smiling eerily when he handed her the bow. "Here is a little piece of magic, Ginarrbrik, that I have held in reserve especially for this moment. After all, it is never wise to fully trust a Son of Adam." She raised the ice bow, aiming toward the west, and drew the string to her ear, not seeming to care that she did so without an arrow. "The Narnians think him a traitor already. Now he is one twice over." She loosed her magic by firing the bow, her expression stony in rage. "And all traitors are mine, little prince. You won't get far. Ready my sleigh!" she roared, turning sharply to stride from the room. "We will find the wretch _and _his family, and leave no part of them for any army to follow!"

She threw the bow aside, its use exhausted. The crystal sound of its shattering fueled her anger as she called her servants to war.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Susan didn't want to cross the river. Most of the ice was already breaking apart, torn away by frigid rushing water, and none of them knew how long the rest would last. She tried to object, tried to make Peter see reason, but there was really no point. They had to cross the river eventually, and it was better to try over ice than search for a better place downstream.

Beaver started out first, slapping the ice with his tail to check its stability.

"If Mum knew what we were doing," Susan fretted, keeping one eye on the ice and one on Lucy.

"Mum's not here," Peter snapped. Susan frowned at him.

Lucy glanced back at the riverbank and cried, "Oh no!"

Wolves, but not Edmund's. Their brother was nowhere in sight.

"_Run!"_ Peter shouted, seizing Lucy's hand.

They got no further than half way. The Wolves surrounded them, sneering and snarling. The one who appeared to be in charge leapt on Beaver, pinning him down. Peter drew his sword in reaction, frightened and unsure, leveling his weapon on the Wolf while keeping his sisters tucked behind him.

The Wolf laughed at him. "Put that down, boy. Someone might get hurt."

Beaver struggled, trapped and furious. "Don't worry about me! Slit his throat!"

"Leave while you can," the Wolf negotiated, "and no harm will come to your brother."

Peter felt a chill of anger. He lifted the sword tip a fraction higher. "What do you know of my brother?"

"Only that he was safe the last time I saw him, safe and protected, which is more than I can say for you." He pressed down on Beaver's back, forcing a grunt of pain out of the Animal. "Of course it _has _been nearly a day since we parted. Anything could happen to him while I'm out chasing you, and the Queen has interesting ways of showing her displeasure. Leave now, and I will send your brother after you."

"Maybe we should listen," Susan said, knowing how slim Peter's chances were in a fight. He'd never wielded a sword before, and certainly not in such a desperate situation. She'd already had one brother taken from her. She wouldn't survive the loss of a second.

"Smart girl," the Wolf noted.

"Don't listen to him!" Beaver protested wildly. "Kill him! Kill him _now!"_

"You don't know how!" Susan cried, pushing Lucy back and wishing she could pull Peter away. "Just drop it!"

Peter hesitated, torn between doubt and determination.

"Narnia needs you!" Beaver begged, reaching for him with one paw.

"What's it going to be, Son of Adam?" the Wolf asked reasonably, pressing harder onto Beaver's small body while the river creaked threateningly and Wolves growled around them. "We're not going to wait forever, and neither is the river."

An idea tickled through Peter's mind.

The river…

Water shattered over the fall, nearly drowning out Lucy's shrieked, "_Peter!"_

"Hold on to me!" he shouted in return, driving his sword deep into the ice beneath them. His sisters tucked close to his sides, holding him tightly.

Glacial water washed over the aborted battle, sweeping away Wolves and Beavers and Pevensies alike. The children clung to Peter and his small block of ice, gasping desperately when they broke the surface again. The Beavers found them quickly, swimming them to the shore as easily as if they were a log for their dam.

_Well, _Peter thought fuzzily, _that worked._

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

A little over half a day into their race for Aslan, Edmund gave a sharp cry, clutching his chest and nearly toppling from Philip's back.

"What's wrong?" Horse and Wolf demanded in tandem, skidding to a halt.

"It's nothing," Edmund gasped, rubbing the loose clothing above his heart as he fought to sit up in his saddle. The Animals traveling with him doubled back in concern, looking up at him anxiously. He gave them a firm smile. "It's nothing," he repeated. He flexed the fist that covered his heart, shaking it out. "Just a cramp. I'm fine."

"Edmund," Philip protested, knowing his rider better than that.

Edmund pressed his knees into the Horse in silent warning. "It's nothing that won't keep, Philip. The longer we wait here, the better her chances of catching us. Hurry," he called to his company, "to our army! To Aslan!"

Once they were thundering along again, Tumnus leaned forward enough so he could whisper in Edmund's ear. "What happened?" he asked.

But Edmund ignored him, eyes focused with single intent on the west.

By late afternoon, though, he could no longer fool his companions. His breath came in a pained cadence and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill. Though his expression was clear of any tells, his limbs shook with the effort of containing whatever agony gripped him.

The second time he nearly slipped from Philip's back, the Horse laid down and refused to stand again.

"May we break for the night, my lord?" one of his Hyenas asked. "Faun Tumnus could surely use the rest in preparation for the hard ride tomorrow."

Tumnus' first reaction was indignation. Then he got a good look at Edmund's face, at the stubborn tilt of his chin, the pained whiteness of his lips, and decided that his pride was the least of what they stood to lose on this march. "Yes," he agreed, trying to sound worn and pitiful. "Even one good night would be a wonder for my aches."

Edmund all but wilted, nodding his agreement. Bellus took command, ordering a perimeter and wood for a small campfire to boil snow for the teas left by the doctor.

When all the soldiers were occupied, Philip tugged Edmund to his side, urging him to curl against him for warmth and comfort. "What happened?" the Horse asked softly, nuzzling Edmund's shoulder when he was settled.

For a long moment, Edmund was silent, limp against Philip while a drop of sweat rolled down the side of his face. Bellus joined them before he finally made himself speak. "I felt as though something pierced my heart," he admitted, struggling against breathlessness. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position and failed. "My chest burns and aches."

Bellus whined softly, ears flat against his skull as he nosed the pale line of Edmund's jaw. "You aren't bleeding. What did she do?"

"It's dangerous to go against a Queen who has named you her Prince," he murmured. "Even more so against a Witch."

"You never should have agreed to that," Philip said fiercely. "You should have run once you were healed."

"Where would I have gone?" Edmund asked wearily. "To Aslan, who wasn't here a year ago? Back to my world, where I could have been nasty and useless?"

"To someplace safe!"

"There is no such place," the Son of Adam hissed, eyes shut against a flare of fresh pain, "and there won't be until she's defeated."

"What can we do?" Bellus asked, interrupting the old argument. "Did the doctor leave anything that can help?"

Edmund shook his head in defeat.

"Aslan could help," Tumnus said in a rush, unable to help himself.

Philip and Bellus looked at him as though they had forgotten he was even there before trading an unhappy frown.

"We don't know where Aslan is," Bellus snarled, frightened for Edmund.

"My lord!" one of their Ferret sentries cried, rushing back into camp. "My lord, it's Fox Alastar! He marches at the head of your army to deliver them to Aslan Himself! They aren't an hour from our location!"

Philip sighed deeply, nibbling Edmund's hair in sheer relief. "Hope," he murmured into the dark tangles.

"Or something like it," Bellus muttered, and trotted off to take the Ferret's report.


	4. Chapter Three

AN: Well! You're all awesome, once again. Thank you for being so generous with your comments!

I had a really long, really trying day dealing with lots of really dumb, really difficult people. As I hauled myself into the house I thought, "You know what would make me feel better? Posting." So even though it's midnight and I'm exhausted, here ya go!

Many meetings and the plot thickens. (Doesn't it always?) Somebody kick Beaver, okay?

Oh and I mess with the time continuum. To be fair, we never really got one in the movie, and I explain my reasoning in what I think is a perfectly suitable fashion. So no whining :D

If you don't pick out what I'm talking about, never mind.

The Winter Prince:

Chapter Three

The entire camp watched them in awe and reverence. It made Susan and Peter uncomfortable, but Lucy just smiled.

To her, it felt a little like coming home.

A Centaur guarded a pavilion nestled at the camp's heart. Knowing whose tent this had to be, Peter drew his sword in salute. "We've come to see Aslan."

As though this were a sign, the whole encampment knelt. Moments later an enormous golden Lion emerged, and the Pevensies dropped to their knees before him. Wind whispered excitedly through the trees while he examined them, until at last he said, "Welcome Peter, Son of Adam. Welcome Susan and Lucy, Daughters of Eve. Welcome Beavers, you have my thanks. But where is the fourth?"

"That's why we're here," Peter admitted, climbing to his feet with his sisters.

Susan shrugged helplessly. "We had a little trouble along the way."

"It's more than trouble," Beaver snarled. Lucy frowned at him, but he didn't notice. "It's their brother who's been tormenting us this whole year! He's the Winter Prince!"

His words had the effect of a bomb dropping in London. The whole camp cried out in shock and fury.

Before Aslan could call for quiet, Lucy's small voice rose above the rest. "There are untold depths to that story!" she exclaimed. Stunned silence fell around her. "I'm more sure of it now than ever! Edmund _isn't _what you think he is, it's not possible! Please, Aslan," she begged, throwing her arms around his neck with the simple faith of a child. "Please, it isn't like they say it is."

"There was a Fox by the Beavers' dam," Peter recalled, wanting Lucy to be right. He met Aslan's golden eyes evenly. "He said he was working under your orders, and he was angry when Beaver called Edmund a traitor."

"It has to mean something," Susan agreed with a fragile surge of hope. "Doesn't it?"

"Those who fell under his sword mean something too," the Centaur general countered, stamping the ground with one hoof.

"He has too many crimes to forgive!" cried a Dwarf in the crowd. Unhappy muttering agreed with him.

"Peace," Aslan said calmly, flicking one ear in the Dwarf's direction. "Much can be forgiven, if forgiveness is asked. But it is as Lucy says. Edmund's story is not fully known." He gently guided Lucy back to her siblings with a nudge of his great golden head. Once she was safely wrapped in Susan's arms, he turned to his pavilion, calling, "Come and share your story, good doctor."

An old Faun stepped out, carefully making his way to the Lion's side. Glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was slightly stooped with age, but he met everyone's gazes squarely.

"This Faun faced many perils to reach me," Aslan told his followers. "Everything he says is true."

"My name Deolith," he said, voice stronger than his body. "Many years ago, the White Witch took me from my family to keep in her castle. I was forced to care for her ill and injured, so I was there the day Edmund came to Narnia. I have been with him ever since."

Another gasp of astonishment swept through those gathered. Lucy trembled in Susan's arms, and Peter closed the gap between him and his sisters to hold them close and protected.

Deolith ignored all of them, lost in bittersweet memories. "He was already sick with the Witch's fever when she sent me to him, and I thought he would die. For nearly a week, he was trapped in nightmares. He never told me all of what he saw, but most of it concerned death and fear and loss." The Faun looked at Aslan. "His last dream was of you."

Aslan inclined his head, accepting that as fact. He didn't seem surprised at all, though the encampment stirred.

"Not long after that," Deolith continued, facing the crowd again, "he woke. And he was changed. He had been frightened before his dreams, a young boy far from home and looking for comfort. When he woke, all he wanted was Aslan, though he didn't know the Lion's name. I told him stories," the old doctor admitted with a rueful smile. "All the ones I knew, leading up to the Prophesy. He understood better the second time the Witch courted him exactly what it was she wanted. So when she asked him to be her Prince, he knew what he was doing when he said yes."

"_Traitor!" _a Bear bellowed.

"Peace!" Aslan commanded, a roar underlying the word. The seething army settled. "Deolith is not finished."

"Just so," Deolith agreed, adjusting his glasses. "We made a plan. He would become her Winter Prince in name only. By doing so, it allowed him access to prisoners and the ability to ride free to warn the families that angered her."

"But all those families are _gone," _Mrs.Beaver pointed out carefully, soothing her husband with a gentle paw.

"They are hidden," the Faun corrected. "Those who would or could not fight wait in the north for word of Aslan's victory. Those ready to take on the Witch's army are part of the forces gathered in the west. Fox Alastar runs to call on those forces even now."

"All we have is your word then," Beaver grumbled. "Those forces ain't here. Those families are still hidden. And the Winter Prince still has a mean reputation."

"Peace," Aslan said for a third time. He lifted his head to address his people. "Fox Alastar _is _on his way to the forces in the west. If they were gathered there by Edmund Pevensie, they will be able to speak to it. For that matter, Edmund is on his way as well. We will hear his tale in its entirely when he arrives."

Peter sucked in a sharp breath. "Ed's coming?" he asked softly, voice trembling. He looked more a child than a king when Aslan turned to him. "He's coming here?"

Aslan turned his head slightly down and away. He didn't look directly at the Pevensies when he replied, "Yes. But it will be a hard journey, and he may need help by the end." He caught Lucy in his golden eyes. "Continue to have faith, dear one. He will need your thoughts to strengthen him." Finally he addressed Peter. "Your brother is much changed from the boy you knew. Evil has touched him, and he will not quickly heal from it. Be patient with him." Aslan smiled at Susan. "Treat him gently. He is still your brother."

All three Pevensies bowed their heads.

Aslan lifted his voice to his army. "There is much work to be done before the western forces arrive. Be prepared for them by midday tomorrow."

The warriors shouted their agreement and quickly dispersed.

While the Pevensie children went to arm themselves with fresh clothing and food, Deolith stood close by Aslan's side and turned to face the setting sun.

"If the Witch wakes the curse she laid on him," the Faun said quietly, "he will die before the troops arrive."

Aslan turned to breathe gently on him. "Peace, good doctor," he rumbled. "You have taught him well. All will be as it should."

"Do not die, Edmund," Deolith begged, leaning heavily on Aslan. "Please. Do not die."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Fox Alastar presented the self-styled Western Army with the verbose pride typical of his people. To the quiet disappointment of many in Edmund's Guard, it wasn't large enough to truly qualify as an army by even the most generous of estimates.

But Edmund knew every dimension of this army, had built it himself in secret, and understood what its warriors were capable of. He stood to welcome them, smiling as any good prince should, and spoke with the leaders to map the swiftest rout to Aslan's camp at the Stone Table. Rumor had it that the river was finally melted, and while that was good news in one capacity, it meant trouble for their march. They would have to take a longer trail, one that skirted the heart of the Witch's territory.

"We will make it," Edmund promised his warriors. "Aslan did not gather us so we could be killed on his doorstep. He would not call on us to be superfluous. We have a part to play in this war yet. For tonight," he called, "rest in preparation. Tomorrow, we fly!"

The troops roared their approval, filled with love and loyalty for the small Human.

At sunset, Edmund's condition took a turn for the worst, the Witch's spell tearing through his veins with greedy frozen fingers. By moonrise, none of his companions thought he would survive to greet the dawn.

Edmund had never expected to live that long anyway.

A few minutes shy of midnight, the whole of Edmund's camp fell asleep, save Edmund himself. If he'd had more energy, the Human might have been alarmed, since Bellus never closed his eyes unless he knew his boy was well guarded. Exhausted as he was, though, the unnatural slumber that immediately preceded the appearance of Father Christmas only seemed fitting.

The mythical figure sat by Edmund, not quite leaning against Philip, and for a long while they were silent.

Edmund tried vaguely to think of the proper Narnian greeting for Father Christmas only to realize he'd never learned one. "Lucy was the only one who still believed in you," he said at last, keeping his attention on the dancing flames. He glanced sideways at the bearded old man. "It seems she will never stop being right. Is it Christmas at last, then?"

"It is here," Father Christmas agreed, smiling down at him, "for now. Your siblings are at Aslan's camp, and for them it is already spring. But the Witch's spell is fading differently in different places. If you had stopped even a mile closer to her castle, Christmas would have missed you entirely. Next year will be better."

Edmund's pale face gentled with a smile. "I'm glad they made it." He hesitated. "Were they terribly angry with me?"

"They're confused," Father Christmas corrected. "They don't want to believe all the stories. Lucy believes almost none of them. She sent me to you."

Edmund laughed softly, shifting closer to Philip. "If you've come to give me coal, we could definitely use it."

"No," the jolly man chuckled, drawing one last present from his pocket, "not coal. You worked hard for your wicked reputation, but there have been few as truly good as you this past year. So this is yours." He pressed a small vial of silvery liquid into his hand. "It's not much, but if you hurry it should just get you to Aslan. Do not delay," he warned, "either in drinking it or in the trip. You cannot afford even a second of hesitation."

In a show of agreement, Edmund pulled out the vial's stopper and tipped back the contents. When he looked again, Father Christmas was gone. He felt the ice in his chest retreat to his heart, where it pounded ominously to the rhythm of his existence. It still hurt, but it wasn't a killing hurt yet. So he sat up and twisted to shake Philip's neck. "Wake up," he called. The sound of his voice roused most of the Animals around him.

They had thought he would be dead when they next woke, so his orders to press on, even in the dark of night, were met with resounding joy.

Fox Alastar led the renewed charge to Aslan, followed by a host of feverishly determined Animals. Edmund neglected to mention Father Christmas' warnings about his stay of execution, which would infuriate Bellus when he found out later. In the mean time, comforted by ignorance, they marched for war.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

The Witch abandoned her sled when the last snow melted.

"It's so warm out," Ginarrbrik observed, awed as he began to pull off his coat. A chilly glare from his Queen suggested that this was a bad idea, so he quickly shrugged it back on and scurried to release the reindeer.

Better to be hot than dead.

One of her Minotaur guards lumbered forward, dropping heavily to one knee in front of her. "What now, my Queen?"

She studied him coldly before looking away, dismissing his existence. "We will continue on in pursuit of Maugrim and his Wolves," she said, more to herself than her followers. Such was her way, since no counsel in the world was as pleasing to the Witch as her own. "Maugrim has either taken care of those brats or he will soon. If they have made it to Aslan's camp, we can follow his trail there. As for that other." She sneered, her eyes cutting to the west for a brief moment. "I have already sent him a token of my love. Whatever remains of his pitiful crusade after that will be crushed by my hunters. Soon Aslan alone will remain, and he is no match for me. The Great Cat will fall and Narnia's winter will be endless."

The Minotaur bowed his head a little lower and prepared to stand in order to ready his troops.

But his Queen was not yet finished. "One more thing," she murmured, still not looking at him. Her wand glinted in the sunlight as she spun it deftly, resting just the tip against his shoulder. It would have seemed as though she knighted him if he had not turned to stone. Finally her eyes flickered to him, and she lifted her chin in regal umbrage. "Do not question me, slave," she rebuked him, turning away again. "I find it so tedious."

Her warriors followed her silently, giving their dead captain a wide berth.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

When his sisters went to the river to wash and calm themselves, Peter stood with Aslan, looking over their encampment.

Aslan eventually tipped his great head, drawing Peter's attention to turrets rising in the distance. "That is Cair Paravel of the Four Thrones, one of which you must sit as High King."

Peter's mouth thinned and his shoulders tensed slightly, but he didn't respond.

Aslan didn't need him to. "You doubt the Prophesy."

The future king shook his head. "I'm not who you think I am," he admitted at last, facing Aslan as bravely as he could.

"Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley," the Lion said, startling Peter. "Beaver also said you wanted to turn him into a hat." He laughed gently, knowing Beaver's faults as well as he knew his strengths. When Peter's expression filled with chagrin, Aslan turned, catching him in a weighty golden stare. "Peter, there is a Deep Magic that rules over Narnia. It defines right from wrong and helps us fulfill destinies, both yours and mine."

The thought of that made Peter's anger stir softly, and he looked back out over the encampment. His jaw clenched. "Is that why Ed isn't here with us, where he should be?" he asked softly, left hand fisted around the hilt of his sword. "Is that why I was so terrible to him, even when he did nothing deserve it?" He motioned sharply at the army with his free hand. "Is that why all these people who think my brother's a traitor would die to follow me? Because the Deep Magic has a plan? Because of our destinies?"

Aslan breathed on him, and Peter wavered with the abrupt loss of his anger. Suddenly all he had left was the guilt and fear, which was somehow worse. He swallowed hard, fighting tears.

So Aslan breathed on him again. "Peace, Peter," he murmured. "All is as it should be. You have a part to play, as do I. As does your brother." Peter jerked in surprise, swinging around to face Aslan, whose gentle smile was filled with compassion. "Edmund made choices that led him to be who he is and _where _he is. Sometimes there were small things I could do to help him along his way; most often there was nothing. It is hard to be the one left waiting."

Peter swallowed again. "Is he really coming?"

The Lion chuckled softly. "As swiftly as he can, yes. Your brother is stubborn and will not rest until the task he built for himself is finished. When that is, I cannot say."

At last Peter smiled, a fond expression as he thought of his impossible dark haired sibling. "Stubborn is a nice way to put it."

Aslan rumbled again, pleased by Peter's humor.

Then Susan's horn cut across the camp, three calls in quick succession. Peter stared at Aslan in alarm for only a moment before racing down the hill.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Do you think he's all right?"

Susan wondered if it would be better to pretend like she didn't know who Lucy meant. But there was only one person she _could _mean, so instead of stalling she just sighed. She bent to trail her hand in the river. "I don't know," she admitted, struggling with the truth of it. More than anything, she hated to not know.

Lucy picked up a small stone, tossing it into the water with a muted _plop._ "Maybe he is," she guessed hopefully. "Maybe he finally met someone nice, like Mr. Tumnus, and it's only taking them so long because Fauns like to stop for tea."

_Oh Lucy, _Susan thought, shaking her head. She straightened, flicking her fingers to free them of diamond water droplets. "Aslan said Edmund may have gathered an _army,_" she pointed out, and was angled in the wrong direction to see the hope in Lucy's eyes whither under the creeping fear that lurked always in the back of her mind. "There certainly wasn't time for tea during something like that. He's fleeing the Witch, too, since she has to know he tricked her. And if he _is _with Mr. Tumnus, who was arrested, wouldn't that mean he's locked up somewhere?" When she turned she saw Lucy, both hands covering her face, shoulders shaking, and felt every inch the brute she sometimes called Edmund.

"Oh Lucy!" she cried apologetically, gathering her little sister close. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to be this way," she soothed, rocking Lucy gently. "There's just so much in my head, and I can't stop it all from coming out. Please don't cry."

"Aslan and the Fox," Lucy wept, clinging to Susan, "and Father Christmas, they all told me to believe, to have faith in Edmund, but it's so hard! He could be hurt and he doesn't have Peter or anyone with him. We're all together and he's alone again, and what if he never gets to meet Aslan? What if we never see him again?"

"Shh," Susan murmured into her soft hair. She stroked the younger girl's back, placing a soothing kiss against her temple. "Shh, Lucy, it's alright. Aslan would know if Edmund was hurt. He'd send help. Everyone told you to believe because that's what you're best at. Edmund will know you're thinking of him, I'm sure of it, and it will give him strength."

After a few more minutes of comfort, Lucy sniffled, pulling away slightly. She offered Susan a wobbly smile. "Thank you," she whispered.

Susan kissed her again. "You're my sister," she said, as though that explained everything. Lucy's breath continued to shiver from her lungs, so Susan went to fetch a towel with the intent of dipping it in the river so she could cool her little red face with it.

But there were Wolves behind the towel, and it was all she could do to shove Lucy up a tree, scrambling after her before pressing her white horn to her lips. She let it scream enough for the both of them.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

By mid-morning, Edmund's combined forces were exhausted. Even though his Guard wanted to press on, the small army needed its rest. The soldiers were trained for combat, not endurance. The Guard had once spent the better part of three days running, but they knew they'd never be able to talk Edmund into splitting the groups just so he could reach Aslan a few hours earlier.

Another difference between the two was that the army thought their little king cured. The Guard knew he'd only delayed the Witch's revenge, though they still were unaware of Father Christmas' warning for haste, or they would have put an end to the idea of stopping for any reason before it could be formed. If they had known, they would have sprinted with him to Aslan's camp, happy to die of exhaustion in the dirt at the Lion's paws so long as Edmund lived.

Which was, of course, the main reason Edmund hadn't told them.

The army settled for breakfast, breaking out rations and scouring the surrounding forest for any potential unexpected additions to the meager offerings. The Guard quickly grew frustrated with the meal, skirting the edge of their makeshift camp in the hopes of finding an enemy agent upon which to unleash their rapidly blackening moods.

Edmund took his meal with Philip, Alastar, and Tumnus, working hard to maintain the façade that he was tired only due to the pace and not because the ice in his chest was spreading again.

Philip was not fooled. Alastar offered some of his own food, hoping even a little bit more nourishment might help.

"What would help," Bellus snarled, stalking up to the trio on shadow-silent paws, "is _Aslan, _who is still nearly half a day from here if we maintain this ridiculous crawl!"

"Peace, Bellus," Edmund ordered softly, beckoning the Wolf closer just by lifting one hand. Bellus trotted sullenly over to the tree where his little lord sat, reclining among the roots. The Human soothed his companion by gently scratching behind his ear. When Bellus appeared unmoved by this normally comforting gesture, Edmund tugged his ear lightly, pulling him even closer.

Once Bellus was tucked against Edmund's side, he sat, petulantly shaking his head to straighten the fur. Usually the warmth between the two would be a comfort of its own, since Bellus always remembered that first night in Narnia when Edmund had nearly frozen. Now, though, Edmund seemed cooler than usual, despite the growing heat of spring. Bellus flattened his ears, letting out a low whine.

Edmund leaned a little more of his weight against the Wolf, shutting his eyes. "Look up, Bellus," he murmured, softly enough for just the two of them. "The trees are green. Soon they'll have flowers, the ones that bloom. Spring is in Narnia at last. Aslan will not let it return to the endless winter. Have faith in his plan."

"I do," Bellus admitted after a pause. "I just don't know if that plan includes saving _you._ What of your fate, Edmund? You, who has done so much for us? You, who has suffered more than any Narnian under the Witch? You," he whined, nuzzling under the boy's chin, "who even now dies because of the part you played? Please, Edmund," he begged, prevented from reading more of Edmund's expression because his eyes were still closed. "Please, let us rouse the army. We need to hurry. This isn't the time to delay!"

Edmund smiled faintly, finally opening his dark eyes to study the leaves dancing on their branches. "This isn't a delay," he responded softly. "If we don't rest now, the army won't be able to maintain a good speed. Eventually they'll collapse, and we'll have to wait for them to recover, which would take hours compared to this small break for breakfast. It's alright, Bellus," he promised, running one hand down the Wolf's shoulder. "Everything will be fine."

"It won't!" Bellus cried, jumping to his paws. The fur along his spine lifted in his fury, and the sound of his desperation drew the attention of many Animals eating around them. "It won't be fine! Edmund, you're _dying! _How can you say that's fine? You need to get to Aslan! We need to _hurry!"_

The Human gathered his strength quietly for a moment, so when he finally sat up to study Bellus it seemed as though the act were completely effortless. Philip still wasn't fooled, but it made Bellus adjust his internal estimate on how much time Edmund had left.

Edmund smiled at the Wolf, though he included everyone in the reassurance he offered. "Calm down," he instructed. "Breathe deeply. We will make our own way to Aslan on our own time, and it will be enough because it has to be enough. Everything is as it should be. We have to believe that."

"And if we can't?" asked Fox Alastar, voice hushed with a combination of fear and trust and fierce love for this small Son of Adam. The potent cocktail of emotions was enough to leave him breathless and shaking. "If it isn't enough? Will you really die?"

Dozens of Animals from a hodgepodge of species were united at that moment in one agonized prayer: _Please don't take him from us._

Edmund couldn't hear the words, but he understood their silent plea in all the faces turned to him. He smiled again to buy himself a moment, then stood with the smooth grace that they expected of him. Philip moved closer to nibble at dark hair, and Edmund used the excuse of patting the Horse's neck to lean against his shoulder. "Don't waste energy on fear," he called to them, voice ringing with authority through the woods. "We will need it to reach Aslan. All of us," he said, passing his eyes over them, "together."

They stirred, relief moving through the ranks like sunlight in clear water.

"We are not alone out here," he continued, leaning a little more heavily on Philip. "Aslan knows of us. Deolith will have told him everything by now. And surely," he pledged, "surely they are looking for us. Help is on the way." He caught Bellus' doubtful gaze with his own, trying to will the solace of belief onto the anxious Wolf. "If we work together just a little longer, soon we'll be with Aslan. Everything is as it should be."

The company cheered, exploding into a frenzy of busywork as they prepared to march again.

Edmund helped Tumnus get settled on Philip before tucking his own foot into one of the stirrups. Before he could haul himself up through sheer force of will, he felt a gentle tug on the leg of his breeches. When he glanced back, Bellus was looking up at him intently, ears flat against his skull again. So Edmund smiled, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around the Wolf's neck. "Calm down," he murmured into the fur, taking a deep lungful of Bellus' unique musk.

"Don't die, Edmund," Bellus begged, sounding desperate and helpless. "We worked too hard. You mean too much to us. Aslan, Edmund, _please…_ Please don't die!"

"I'm doing everything I can think of that might help," the Son of Adam promised, strained and a little desperate himself. "You have to hold your own on this, Bellus, at least until we get there. I'm trying, but… Everything will be fine," he said, echoing himself, and in that echo Bellus could finally hear the faint glimmer of Edmund's terrified need to believe his own words. "Everything…"

"In no time at all," Bellus interrupted, nuzzling his Human comfortingly, "everything will be fine. Stay strong, my king. Help is on the way. Now climb onto Philip," he ordered, nudging Edmund in the correct direction, "before he leaves without you. Quickly, your Western Army is ready to march!"

Edmund smiled at him, forcing the expression to show his pride rather than the weakness humming under his skin. He wanted Peter and Aslan and Deolith. He wanted Lucy and Susan and to finally, finally be warm.

More than that, though, he wanted his warriors to meet Aslan's army and face the Witch side-by-side with their fellow Narnians. Bellus and his Wolves would be welcomed as heroes. His Guard would be absolved. Aslan would know them. Aslan would save them.

First, though, they had to find him.

Edmund called for the army to march, his voice carrying beyond the trees, ringing like a silver bell into the sky above. The soldiers thrilled at the sound of it, at the strength and confidence of their small, proud little king.

But Philip was not fooled.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter faced Maugrim alone, his brandished sword flashing brightly in the golden sunlight. The other Wolf was caught beneath Aslan's great paw, held there for later interrogation, since no one had expected to see the Witch's agents so close to their camp. Oreius stomped one hoof, wanting to protect his king, but Aslan's orders were clear.

This was Peter's fight.

Susan huddled on her branch with Lucy, clinging to her little sister for some small measure of comfort. "Please," she heard Lucy chant under her breath, eyes locked on Peter as he set himself before the Wolf. "Please, please, please."

Not another brother lost to them, not another to worry over uselessly.

"Peter," Susan breathed. "_Please."_

For his part, Peter was frozen in the conflicting grip of terrified self-doubt and the newborn glimmer of belief that he was here for a reason, for the sake of Aslan and Narnia and even for his family. It was all he could do to keep the tip of his sword leveled on the Wolf.

"What will you do, Son of Adam?" the Wolf growled, a mocking laugh rumbling under his words as he circled. "Will you fight? I've had too much practice killing, and I like the taste of blood. You won't be able to beat me. Or maybe you'll run, like your sniveling runt of a brother?"

And that, Susan knew, had been the wrong thing to say.

Peter's doubt was swept away in a wash of indignant fury. "My brother didn't run," he hissed between clenched teeth, lifting his sword a degree in warning. "And he doesn't snivel!"

"You don't know your brother," the Wolf taunted.

"I know him better than you," Peter spat. "He's leading an army to us that will ensure our victory once that Witch gets here. He'll be the key to Narnia's freedom, and he did it all under your nose."

The Wolf snarled, a sound so furious it made Lucy tremble. "It won't matter if you string together a thousand armies. _Two _Sons of Adam need to sit in those thrones, and your brother is already dead!"

"_Shut up!" _Peter screamed.

"Your wish is my command," the Wolf snapped, all of his teeth bared and his hackles raised as he sunk close to the ground. He leapt at Peter with a wicked snarl, furious and feral, and Peter matched him with an angry shout.

They clashed to the sound of Susan and Lucy screaming. After a brief struggle, they collapsed together, Peter caught under the Wolf's bulk.

For a moment, Susan thought he was dead.

Then the Wolf's body fell aside, and Peter stood, panting and triumphant and a king at last.

"Clean your sword," Aslan instructed, passing his captive to the small group behind him. "And kneel."

Peter obeyed, taking one knee before Aslan with his sword planted brightly in the grass before him.

Aslan rested his paw heavily on Peter's shoulder, releasing him with the command, "Rise, Sir Peter Wolf's-Bane, Knight of Narnia!"

Before Peter could stand, a Horse came thundering out of the forest behind the Centaurs, more from the west than the direction of camp. Peter's heart gave a sharp thud of fear as he leapt to his feet, because there were only so many reasons any Animal would come from the west.

Then Lucy noticed the Horse's passenger and shouted, "Mr. Tumnus!" She tumbled quickly out of the tree, running to him with her arms flung wide for a hug. "Oh, I'm so glad! We thought the Witch had you!"

But Tumnus only shot her a quick, tight smile before focusing on Aslan. "Please," he rasped. He swallowed quickly to wet his throat and tried again. "Please!"

"Shut up, useless Faun!" the Horse yelled, sides heaving for breath even as he reared enough to almost dump his passenger. He stomped his hooves angrily, taking control of the story. "Edmund's under attack less than an hour from here," he told Aslan, shifting constantly under the combined jitters of adrenalin, exhaustion, and being separated from Edmund. "He took his Guard to investigate a hunting party calling for aid but ordered the army to keep marching. It was a trap, and now they're in danger of losing. He sent us to call for help!"

"Oreius," Aslan ordered, pawing the ground restlessly, "gather your best and go to Edmund, hurry!"

"We left an obvious trail," the Horse told Oreius. "We traveled too quickly for anything else."

Oreius nodded once before thundering back to camp, his subordinates in tow. One remained behind to guard their Wolf prisoner.

"Let me go too," Peter begged, sheathing his sword.

"And me!" Lucy added. Susan tugged her back, pressing her lips into a thin, deeply concerned line.

"No," Aslan refused. "Edmund's army will arrive soon, and it is your duty as king and queens to greet them properly."

"Greet them?" Lucy cried, devastated.

"I can help," Peter insisted. "Let me fight!"

"You are needed _here,"_ the Lion said firmly. "There is nothing you can do for Edmund except to wait and welcome him when he arrives."

When Peter and Lucy would have objected again, Susan rested her hands on their shoulders. "We will obey you, Aslan," she replied softly, standing tall and peerless, a queen before her King. "The army Edmund fought so hard for will finally be properly met. For Edmund's sake," she added to her siblings, "we have to."

Peter clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. Then he shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. When he looked back at Aslan, his face was stony but calm. "As you command," he said decisively.

Aslan smiled warmly, pleased and proud. "You are a worthy knight, Sir Peter Wolf's-Bane."

"It's harder to be the one waiting," he replied, parroting Aslan's own words.

Lucy didn't say anything, but she turned her attention to Mr. Tumnus and the Horse. "You look tired," she observed, stroking the Horse's sweat-dampened shoulder. "Come with us to camp and we'll let the healers make you well again. Poor Mr. Tumnus." She smiled sadly up at him. "Does it hurt terribly?"

"There are worse pains," he admitted enigmatically.

"Ai!" the Centaur guard exclaimed suddenly, dancing back a step. He pawed the ground with his left foreleg, trying to shake out the ache of a Wolf bite. "Stop!" he cried as his prisoner broke for the woods in a streak of grey, but he stumbled when his wounded leg wouldn't hold his weight. "I'm sorry, Majesties," he said desperately. "I didn't expect him to attack with us all here! Let me go after him, I'm sure I can catch up!" He stumbled again when he tried, and Peter rushed forward to halt his attempts with one hand to the Centaur's arm.

"Peace," Aslan ordered, ears swiveling forward to listen for the Wolf. "He is gone, and you are in no condition to follow."

"But he'll lead the Witch to us!" the Centaur protested, wanting to fight but lacking the ability.

"That is likely," Aslan agreed placidly. "We always knew it would come to a battle between us. At least we are familiar with this area enough to use it to our own advantage. For now we must return to camp," he ordered, including everyone in a sweep of his golden eyes. "There is much to do and far too little time to do it all." They followed him as he walked, staying close for the sanctuary he offered.

"I would return to Edmund," the Horse murmured, head low in a bow as he made his request.

"Edmund will come to you, best of Horses," Aslan told him warmly. "For now, join us in waiting."

"I have never been separated from him while he was in Narnia," Philip admitted, tossing his mane in frustration. "Not since you sent me to him in the beginning. I do not like being so far. He gets into trouble as easily as breathing, and Bellus is no help at all."

"What does he mean?" Lucy asked Aslan, eyes wide. "You sent Edmund a Horse?"

Aslan chuckled when Philip's pride bristled at the phrasing. "When Edmund first came to Narnia," he explained, "I knew he would need good friends and loyal companions. Philip was with me then, and I asked him to watch over Edmund, if he could. The others your brother collected on his own, but Philip, at least, I sent. It was possible Edmund would refuse him," the Lion divulged. "Or else that he would turn Philip in to the Queen once his true loyalties were revealed. I am glad, for Edmund's sake, he did not."

"As am I," Philip murmured.

Before anyone else could respond, they crested into their camp and set to work.


	5. Chapter Four

AN: This is the second chapter posted in the last few days. If you don't remember reading about Edmund and Father Christmas, you missed a chapter :)

Remember that scene with Edmund and everyone during the breakfast break, and Edmund had to convince Bellus and co. he was fine? That was written entirely while listening to "Details in the Fabric" by Jason Mraz. Great song, fabulous and mellow and so perfect. I have a whole Winter Prince playlist I listened to while plotting or writing. Most of it was the epic music from the original movie score, but there were some others thrown in as well, like "Details in the Fabric". I love making playlists!

…Not that playlists have much to do with anything, but nobody really reads author notes anyway, right?

This chapter is my favorite part of being a writer.

The Winter Prince:

Chapter Four

Edmund didn't want to split his forces, knowing in his gut it was a bad idea, but something had to be done about the distress call coming from the north. He drew Philip to a halt, thinking quickly as the warriors behind him followed his lead.

"It's a trap," Bellus insisted, urging Philip forward by butting his head against one of the Horse's long legs.

Philip flicked one ear at him, stomping the offended leg. Otherwise, he ignored the Wolf, used to his particular brand of panic.

"We have an obligation to all Narnians in need," Edmund said, deciding himself only as the words left his mouth. He looked down at Bellus, trying to project determination and strength. "If they truly do need us and we don't go because we're afraid, then we've lost more to the Witch than a battle. We'll go, but we'll make it quick," he added as a concession.

Bellus flattened his ears and trotted away, sulking ferociously.

Philip sighed.

"Alastar!" Edmund called, turning in his saddle to scan for the Fox.

"Here, my king!" The small Animal bound to Philip's side, eager to be of special use.

The Human graced him with an indulgent smile. "Please take command of the Western Army again. I will go with however much of the Guard volunteers to check on the hunting party. We'll meet up with you at Aslan's camp."

Alastar hesitated only a moment before bowing. "As my king commands." Then he lifted his voice to the army and bade them march.

When the troops were on their way, Edmund addressed his Guard. "It _is _probably a trap," he admitted ruefully. "Still, I am bound to investigate. Since I also understand the threat, though, I'm not going to order anyone to come along. This is strictly a volunteer expedition. That means you too, Philip," he added, patting the Horse's neck.

Philip didn't grace this inanity with a response other than to wicker in slight offence.

The Guard seemed to share his sentiment, frowning darkly at the idea that they would abandon their lord _now, _after all the danger they'd already faced together.

Edmund smiled at them, shaken by the fierce love he felt for each of these brave Animals. "How about it, Mr. Tumnus?" he asked, resting his hand on the Faun's shoulder.

"The sooner there," came the pragmatic response, "the sooner done."

"Well said," Bellus snapped, irritated with his Human's pesky and recurring streak of nobility. "Come on!" he barked, leaping into a sprint. "Let's get this over with!"

The belief that it was a trap was only half true. There was a four-hound hunting party in need of saving, but the degree of trouble it faced was manufactured for the sake of drawing on Edmund's sense of justice. The Witch's agents desperately outnumbered Edmund's and counted among its rank a two Dwarfs and a Minotaur, which were notoriously difficult to kill.

When the fighting was at its thickest and all his arrows were exhausted, Edmund swung out of his saddle, startling Philip badly. He used the flat of his drawn sword to catch a charging Dwarf in the chest, absorbing its momentum before shoving it back. It stumbled and he pursued it mercilessly, cutting it down with an efficient slice.

"Edmund!" Philip cried. "What are you doing? You're too weak to fight on your own!"

Before the rebuke was fully formed, Edmund took down another Fell Beast, proving his friend wrong.

"You'll be killed!" Tumnus agreed, reaching for him. "Please, get back up here!"

Edmund caught the Faun's hand, pressing a small vial into his palm. His dark eyes were focused and intense when they caught Tumnus'. "Give this to Deolith," he ordered, curling the Faun's hand into a fist around the slim container. "When he asks what it is, tell him it was Father Christmas' gift to the Winter Prince. Use that title, or he won't understand the full meaning."

"Why can't you give it to him?" Tumnus asked, terrified.

A charging Hyena distracted Edmund for a moment. He was forced to turn on his heel, bringing his sword up in a sweeping block. A foot planted in the Animal's side knocked it off balance, offering a target that Edmund took by cutting diagonally from shoulder to hip through its soft underbelly. "Deolith will ask that too," the fatigued king panted, leaning briefly against Philip. He gave the Horse a self-deprecating smile. "Tell him I delayed too long."

"I don't understand," the Faun pleaded.

"You don't have to," Edmund promised. He gave Philip's shoulder a definitive pat. "Fly to Aslan, dearest Philip," he murmured into the Horse's ear. "Beg him to send help to us, or we are all lost."

"Edmund," Philip moaned desperately, pushing his head into the boy's shoulder, "_please."_

Another Animal got through the guards fighting to give Edmund room to pass orders on to Philip, and Edmund knew his time was over. "_Fly!" _he screamed, protecting Philip's flank as the Horse reared in fright. Tumnus held on for his life, clutching the vial to his chest. Once all four hooves were on solid ground, Philip wheeled to face Aslan's camp and ran.

Edmund, locked in battle, could not even watch him go.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Oreius reached the field of combat just in time to turn the tide. His king's brother had organized the forces cleverly, using trees and a small outcropping of rocks as both barricade and high ground.

The boy himself what not what the Centaur had expected. He was smaller, slimmer, paler, with black hair and dark eyes and an expression far too grave for his young face. But he carried himself like a king already, shouting orders with the unconscious expectation that they would be obeyed.

His soldiers followed his word to the letter, demonstrating both their devotion and their trust.

The most persistent of their opponents was a Minotaur, which the General dispatched himself. Once the enemy broke rank to flee, Oreius called for his warriors to give chase. Most of the uninjured Guard, including a battle-frenzied Bellus, joined them.

Oreius approached the little Son of Adam, taking a moment to examine him.

King Peter's brother looked up at him, solemn and drawn with fatigue, barely standing as high as his waist. Without a word, he offered his sword to Oreius hilt first. Startled, Oreius wasn't sure how to respond, so the child said hoarsely, "This is the symbol of my authority. You came to save us, and you did. All I ask now is that you take this, and my Guard, to Aslan. Protect them in my place." A weak smile wobbled across his face. "It seems I've reached my limit."

Oreius sheathed one of his own swords on his back, accepting the little king's slight weapon. He held it gently in his left hand and nodded once to Edmund, accepting his new charge. "When we have pushed them far enough that we know they cannot easily double back to camp," he explained, flicking his tail, "I will return for you."

Edmund nodded, shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you," he breathed, smile warming to become an expression too gentle for the surrounding carnage.

"Rest," Oreius ordered, rearing slightly as a strange sense of dread rose in his heart. "Soon you will be with Aslan."

Instead of replying, Edmund staggered back a step to lean against one of the trees. He slid down until he was seated, legs stretched out in front of him, hands slack in his lap, and fell instantly to sleep, the peaceful smile still in place.

When Oreius returned less than ten minutes later, Edmund was in nearly the same position. His head had fallen forward so his dark hair hid his expression.

And Oreius could not rouse him.

"No!" Bellus cried, skidding to a halt by Edmund's side. His muzzle was bloody from his many victories, but he didn't notice beyond the sudden terror thrumming through his veins. "Wake up, Edmund! You said we'd go to Aslan together—_wake up!"_

But he didn't.

So Oreius gathered the slight boy carefully into his arms, juggling to keep hold of his little sword, and ran for Aslan, out-stripping both his soldiers and Edmund's in his haste. He ran faster than he had in his entire life, legs pumping and lungs working like a bellows. King Peter's brother lay limp in his arms, cold and lax and so still. He ran through the woods, across the river and gentle hills. By the time he reached the encampment, he thought his heart would burst. Still he ran.

As soon as he set eyes on Aslan, he knew the truth of it.

He would never have been able to run fast enough.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter greeted the army alongside his sisters, wondering even as he did so if there was some special welcome, some official speech they were supposed to make. Luckily, one of the first Animals to approach them was the Fox who had once saved them from Wolves, and he had no trouble at all filling the expectant silence. His name was Alastar, he said, and after that formal introduction he launched into an elegant disquisition on Edmund and the Western Army. His words were clever and vivid and seemed utterly without end.

Peter listened with growing pride and frustration as the Fox sang Edmund's praises. Pride because now everyone would know, without doubt, that Edmund was a hero. Frustration because Edmund was still missing.

While the Fox monopolized the Pevensies' attention, Aslan's people mingled with the newcomers, rejoicing as they rediscovered friends they'd thought lost forever. Beaver found Badger, and the only hitch during the course of their joyous reunion was when the latter nearly attacked the former for making an unflattering implication about Edmund's character. To the last Animal, all of the warriors in the Western Army held a fierce devotion to their little king, as they called him.

But where was _Edmund?_

Susan, in an effort to distract the Fox from his speeches, soon prodded her siblings into helping her arrange lodging and provisions for the exhausted Western Army, which occupied their restless minds for nearly an hour. The hill upon which Aslan's pavilion stood was surrounded by many smaller encampments, each with a unique history and purpose. Lucy thought the best place for the Western Army would be between the cluster of Dwarfish smiths and the three healers' tents. That way, she explained, the army could be checked for health and fitted for armor nearly at the same time. Alastar wholly agreed with her logic and shot off to speak with first the doctors, then the Dwarfs about securing their help.

Despite his genuine interest in helping Edmund's army claim its rightful place among the other warriors, Peter still found himself frequently looking back toward the red and gold flags billowing over Aslan's pavilion. More than anything else in all of Narnia, he wanted Oreius to crest the hill, to fetch them so they could reunite with their wayward sibling. Peter wanted Edmund by his side with an intensity that made him clench his fists to hide their trembling. Edmund, who already knew so much about the strengths of this motley host. Edmund, whose sharp mind would easily tease apart any weaknesses in their battle plans. Edmund, his brother, who he missed like a part of himself.

Because he was watching, Peter was the first to notice when one of the standards over his own pavilion was replaced with an ominous black banner. Then a Centaur did crest the hill, but it was Oreius' second-in-command rather than the General himself. Something about that frightened Peter, but he didn't want to consider why.

Lucy, of course, was ecstatic. "Peter!" she shouted as soon as she saw the Centaur. She quickly gathered her skirts to run. "Susan, it's one of Oreius' soldiers! Oreius must be back! _He found Edmund!_"

The Pevensies abandoned their posts without thought, converging on the Centaur, whose expression was far from comforting. He shifted uneasily under their combined attention, attempting to answer all their questions at once.

Peter quickly grew frustrated with the string of vague responses and abandoned the messenger, turning instead to sprint up the hill. His sisters followed at a slightly more reasonable pace. The Centaur tried only weakly to stop them.

Before he even saw Edmund, Peter knew something was wrong. The main path to Aslan's pavilion was lined with stony-faced warriors, and despite the great number gathered, it was eerily quiet. A small group of Cheetahs started to sing when they saw Peter's approach. Their chant began with a long note of mourning as they harmonized in the way of their people in moments of deepest grief. Their haunting song carried over the entire surrounding encampment. When it reached the new arrivals, what seemed like the whole of the Western Army let out a collective groan, crying out in loss and despair.

Peter felt his heart turn to ice. He ran recklessly down the lane, pushing aside the Narnians that crowed around Aslan's pavilion. The first thing he saw when he broke through was Oreius, who lifted his bowed head only long enough to briefly meet his eyes before he turned away, unable to face him. He clutched a sword too small for him in his left hand, knuckles white with the force of his grip.

Oreius stepped back, revealing Aslan. The Lion lay on the ground before his pavilion, Edmund cradled gently in his great paws. He rumbled low in his chest, purring his love as he laved Edmund's pale face and throat with his tongue. Edmund was nestled bonelessly against the Lion's chest, eyes shut and utterly still despite Aslan's demonstrative show of affection. His clothes were stained and tattered, his hair tangled. He had never looked worse or more beautiful. Tears dropped like spring rain from Aslan's eyes to Edmund's cheeks, rolling across his bloodless skin to collect on the grass beneath him.

For a moment, Peter allowed himself to believe that Ed was just sleeping as he had the last night before their father left for the war: deeply and soundly. Then their sisters joined him, and Susan's wail mingled with Lucy's weeping to convince him of the truth. Edmund wasn't asleep.

He was dead.


	6. Chapter Five

AN: This whole story started while I was reading elecktrum's Into the West. In one scene, Aslan's comforting Edmund by cradling him in his paws, and I got a mental image of that and asked myself, "…But what if he were dead?" It was all rather downhill from there.

By the way, perish is a homophone. Do you have any idea how many times I read this thing before thinking, "…Wait. 'Parish'? How many ways can I spell that?" Argh. Just…argh.

And I took some liberties with a mythical creature. I did just enough research to satisfy my curiosity, then ran with the rest. It serves its purpose :D

On a final note, these Narnians pronounce names the way elecktrum's Narnians do. That specifically means that "th" in the middle of a name is broken for separate "t" and "h" sounds. For instance, if the name were "Kartha", it would be pronounced "Kart-ha." Just hypothetically speaking, that is.

The Winter Prince:

Chapter Five

Peter collapsed to his knees in front of Aslan, arms limp at his sides and shoulders slumped. He could not tear his eyes from Edmund, from the sight of him, pale and limp and lifeless.

Edmund was dead.

He wanted to cryor shout or shake his brother, force him to wake up, to respond, but numbness spread through his body, robbing him of the ability. There was too much grief to deny the truth of it, too much sorrow in the faces of the soldiers gathered, in the wailing of the Western Army.

Edmund was dead.

Susan and Lucy huddled together close to Oreius, wrapped around each other and weeping bitterly. Listening to them, Peter was able to lift one hand, fingers trembling as they stretched toward Edmund's pallid face, still wet with Aslan's tears.

He brushed the chill, smooth skin, the tips of his fingers tracing one dark eyebrow, following the line of it down his cheek to his chin. Peter opened his mouth, not sure what he'd say, and all those present held their breaths to listen.

Then a shriek of rage split the silence. A Wolf raced through Aslan's honor guard, barreling past the spears and swords hastily drawn to subdue him. With single-minded intent, he slid to a halt by Aslan, bumping into Peter and burying his snout in the hollow of Edmund's throat. Peter leapt to his feet, wrestling clumsily with the weapon hanging at his hip.

The Wolf didn't appear to notice him. "Edmund!" he cried, a desperate whine underlying the name. "Please, Edmund, wake up! You promised!"

"Peace, Bellus," Aslan murmured, stretching his great neck to nuzzle the Wolf's side.

"He said we would meet you together," Bellus moaned, drawing away from the comfort Aslan represented. He didn't want to be comforted, didn't want to begin the long road of mourning.

Peter understood his resistance. To mourn was to accept, and neither warrior was quite strong enough for that.

Bellus' pain turned swiftly into fury. He sunk low to the ground, hackles raised and teeth bared. "Liar," he snarled, eyes still locked on Edmund's unmoving face. "Was _everything _you said a lie?"

"Leave him alone!" Lucy cried, breaking away from Susan. She threw herself at the Wolf, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him away.

"Let go!" Bellus howled, his head thrashing as he fought for freedom.

"You will stand_ down_, Bellus!" a new voice rebuked sharply. Aslan's forces parted, allowing a much smaller group of only fourteen to walk unimpeded to face the Lion. They were a strange mix of Animals, Wolves and Snow Leopards and Hyenas among others, creatures that usually stood with the White Witch. Their unlikely composition spoke clearly of their identity: These were the last and closest of Edmund's warriors, called his Guard. When they were gathered before Aslan, the assorted Animals bowed low, a show of deepest respect. No one quite knew if they bowed to the Lion or the boy nestled in his paws.

The one who had chastised Bellus, a Snow Leopard with a coat now completely out of season, swung her head sideways to glare at the Wolf. She pulled her lip back in warning. "You will treat your lord with more respect than that," she spat, pressing her ears flat against her skull. "Are you so unworthy of your place in his Guard?"

"What a useless Guard we made," he growled, straining against Lucy's arms. "Not one of us proved equal to our mission. Here he lies _dead, _Kartha. We _failed, _all of us to the last. Or hadn't you noticed?" He gave one final full-body shake, dislodging Lucy's grip at last. She stumbled back into Peter, who quietly returned her care to Oreius and Susan. Peter himself had his sword drawn, though the tip angled more toward the ground than any of the new Animals. Aslan's forces followed Peter's lead, as numb and utterly bewildered as he.

"We haven't failed," another of the Wolves argued furiously, taking a menacing step toward Bellus. "We still have our orders!"

"Orders in service to WHOM?" Bellus roared, lunging forward, desperate for an outlet for the ache settled in his chest.

_Oh Edmund, oh my king, I've failed you, forgive me…_

"Enough!" Peter shouted, jumping between the would-be brawlers. They faltered, ears pricked forward in surprise. Peter glared at them each in turn. "I won't let you use him as an excuse to fight. Not after all he's done for you, for all of us. I _won't! _If you want to fight so badly, save it for the Witch! This is her fault anyway, and she'll be on us soon enough. Make _her _pay for what's been done." He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, dark promise in his eyes. "It's what I intend to do."

"Well said, my king," a Cheetah murmured, lowering her head to him. "Your words are brave indeed, and more true than you know." She straightened, turning slightly to address all the Pevensies and Aslan at once. "The Witch is upon us now. We saw her and a small entourage not twenty minutes out."

"She cannot be planning to fight," Bellus admitted reluctantly. "Her numbers were far too small."

"A treaty?" Oreius wondered to Aslan, pawing at the ground restlessly. He itched to hide what remained of the Humans, to protect what he could since he had failed so profoundly with the fourth.

One of Aslan's ears ticked backward for a moment, and his mouth shifted in displeasure. "She is incapable of mercy and so cannot even think to treat with her enemies. It would never occur to her." He nuzzled Edmund's neck sadly. "No, she comes for worse things than that, darker things from a darker time. Peter," he called. When the eldest Pevensie snapped his gaze from his brother's face to the Lion's, Aslan inclined his head gently. "Take your brother."

At first, Peter froze, unable to obey. He looked at Edmund again, small and so still, and felt something break within him. His arms stretched to accept the precious burden, never noticing that he dropped his sword in the process. Edmund was a slight weight, young and slender, and Peter curled around him, shielding him from the world with his own body.

"It's all right, Eddy," Peter whispered into the dark hair, holding him so tightly it ached. "I'm here now. Everything's all right."

Susan gently guided her siblings a safe distance away, close enough to see but far enough to be a difficult target. Peter folded onto the ground, still wrapped around the brother cradled in his lap, and Lucy tucked close against both boys, tears dripping down her cheeks. Susan stood behind them all, Peter's sword in her hands. She drove its tip into the ground, curling her fingers tight around the hilt in silent promise. She would use that sword to stop anyone from touching her family, though she did not quite know how.

Bellus planted himself beside the Humans. Within moments, the rest of the Guard had taken up protective stances, covering the Pevensies' flank and rear. They formed a half-circle barrier, wild with the need to prevent any more deaths. None of the Narnians dared to comment.

Aslan stood tall before his pavilion, terrible and wonderful and waiting.

And then the White Witch arrived, heralded by a Dwarf and carried by Fell Beasts.

Peter looked up and set eyes upon the Witch for the first time. The rage he felt then, the absolute hate, was more intense than anything he had felt before in his entire life. _I'll kill you,_ he thought with startling calm. _You took my brother from me, and for that I will kill you._

The Witch glanced at him, expression amused as though she could hear his thoughts. She rose gracefully from her litter once it was settled on the ground. "You have a traitor in your midst," she said, the words for Aslan but her eyes still locked with Peter. She turned away reluctantly, facing the Lion.

Aslan watched her stonily. "You have had your revenge upon him, Witch."

"Maybe a little," she agreed, as pleased as if they were discussing a game in which she had just scored. "But the Law requires more than that. Have you forgotten the Deep Magic?"

The Lion growled low in his throat, so furious a sound that even his own people drew back. "Do not cite the Deep Magic to _me, _Witch," he thundered, a roar under his words. "I was there when it was written."

"Then you will know," she said conversationally, eyes drifting to the body cradled in Peter's arms. "That boy belongs to me."

"What more is there for you to take?" Peter demanded, clutching his brother even closer.

"His blood," she laughed, "of course. And their blood," she added, letting her eyes skim over the faces of Edmund's Guard. They bared their fangs at her, drawing marginally closer to Peter and his burden. "All of you were once pledged to me_. _Now, by choosing to walk with _him_, you are traitors, which means you're still _mine."_ She smiled at Aslan, cold and white, an expression meant for winter. "They will die on the Stone Table, as is tradition in the Law, or all Narnia will be overturned, and perish in fire and water."

"I shall speak to you alone," Aslan commanded, leading the way into his pavilion.

As soon as the Witch was gone, the Guard deflated, their fight escaping them. "What a stroke of luck," one of the Hyenas muttered to his companions.

"How is this lucky?" Susan demanded.

"If she kills us," Snow Leopard Kartha explained, exhausted and heartbroken, "we can be with Edmund again. And in dying, perhaps we can take a few of hers with us."

"Spoken like a true coward." A figure stepped out from the lee of the Witch's litter. Though vaguely Human in shape, he was nearly as tall as Oreius, built on long, thin lines. His arms and legs were slightly too long, his fingers too slender. His eyes were tilted like a raptor's, almost no white visible around the black irises. His ears ended in delicate points. A constant wind moved around him, shifting long white hair that fell nearly to the ground. He was dressed in loose white breeches and a billowing shirt, and a sword hung on his waist. When his large, dark eyes fell on Edmund, he cocked his head and his wide mouth thinned.

The Guard stiffened in reaction to his presence, though all Bellus did was huff a deep sigh. "I might have guessed you'd travel with _her_," the Wolf called, setting his paws for a slightly more defensive stance.

The wind around the figure rose angrily, blurring his outline when it touched him too strongly. He frowned at Bellus. "I should have been traveling with _him _but none of you told me of this plan. Why are you here, in the camp of Her Majesty's enemies?"

"Who are you?" Susan demanded before anyone could answer.

A gust of wind disrupted his physical form, blowing a cloud of his colors to the young queen's side. He rematerialized in front of the Pevensies, dipped into a fool's bow, much too low and sweeping. "I am Huaran."

"As for _what _he is," Bellus added, snorting gently to clear some of the dust blown into his snout, "he is a pain and a Sylph."

"What's a Sylph?" Lucy asked, still pressed tightly against Peter but face lifted in curiosity.

"An air elemental," Snow Leopard Kartha spat, "and far too flighty for _anyone's _good."

"They aren't seen often," Bellus said, as unhappy with Huaran as he appeared to be used to him. "Sylphs tend to stay up with the clouds. We never really knew why he chose to come to Edmund and the Witch, but he's the one who taught Edmund to use a sword."

"And a masterful student he made," Sylph Huaran admitted, eyes straying to Edmund's pale face again. "The Queen is here for his blood, for all your blood." He looked over the gathered Guard, trying to understand. "Why would you betray her? Why do you let him just…" He motioned vaguely. "Why would you let him sleep through his own sentencing? Shouldn't he be awake, to repent or plead for mercy?"

"The Witch has no mercy," Peter replied stonily, eyes resting on Edmund as he trailed one hand over his cold cheek. "And he isn't sleeping."

The Sylph frowned. "But he—"

"He's dead," Susan told Huaran flatly. The Sylph startled so violent that his form disrupted. Lucy buried her face in Peter's shoulder, weeping again.

Aslan's forces murmured in discontent as they parted to allow Philip, bearing Fauns Tumnus and Deolith, through to his lord's side. The Horse said nothing, only lay down before Peter and Edmund, even his head falling to the dust, and did not move. Bellus whined sharply, nosing behind Philip's ear and knowing his friend would not survive the loss of Edmund.

Tumnus, newly healed, helped Deolith from Philip's back. Together they approached the Pevensies, their attention drawn to the one they had lost. Tumnus' eyes filled with tears. He turned his face away, miserable and helpless.

Deolith reached out to run his hand over Edmund, checking for temperature, heart rate, and breathing. He drew his hand away when he found none, his shoulders slumped.

Huaran, who had believed in Edmund and Edmund's strength, rounded on the old Faun doctor, furious. "How could you let this happen? You were supposed to take care of him! How could you let him betray everything he believed in and die?_ Where were you?"_

Deolith remained where he was, studying Edmund as though to commit every line of him to memory. "I was where he ordered me to be," the Faun admitted. "Here, with Aslan, sharing every secret weakness I had ever learned of the Witch. Edmund never believed in her, but rather in the strength of Aslan and the promise of a new Narnia, one free of her tyranny. He worked hard and long to gather forces against her." At last he turned to Huaran. "And he didn't betray you, Sylph. Rather, he himself was betrayed. Behold: his Christmas present."

"Oh," Lucy gasped, picking up her wet face to see what Father Christmas had given Edmund. "Oh, I'm so glad they found each other. What is it?"

Deolith held a small crystal vial between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand. His expression was unusually grave. "It is life," he said, tilting the vial so it caught the light. "Or the opportunity for it."

"What do you mean?" Peter demanded, tightening his grip on Edmund. If his present was supposed to be life, Edmund had been badly cheated.

"We long suspected that the Witch had laid a curse upon Edmund when she made him her Prince, for she is possessive and suspicious," the doctor explained, still watching colors play through the crystal. "Our theory was that she would trigger the curse if he were ever to stray from her in the slightest. When she discovered him gone and came to understand the depth of his deception, she must have called on her power to set the spell in motion."

"Not long after we set out from her castle," one of Edmund's Cheetahs recalled, "Edmund cried out and clutched his chest. He nearly fell from Philip's back, but he passed it off as a cramp in his hand."

"And you believed him?" Huaran narrowed his eyes at the Animals.

"We had little choice," Bellus sighed, lowering his head. "He ordered us to continue on."

"Continue on to his death!"

"To Aslan," Deolith corrected, "and Edmund's only chance for survival. Unfortunately, her magic is strong. He would never have made it on his own. This, though." He held the vial higher, showing it to the sun. "This potion would have held the curse at bay, and he could have reached Aslan and salvation. But it would not have worked for long. By stopping to help the hunting party, he sealed his own fate." Deolith dropped his eyes to Edmund's face, his expression twisted in pain. "And he would have known it."

"He chose to die?" Huaran cried, furious and bewildered.

"He chose to protect his people at the cost of his life, yes." Deolith smiled faintly, sorrow laying deep wrinkles around his eyes. Peter looked up at him, and their eyes met for the first time. "He was a king," he said softly. "He was _my _king." He turned to meet the Sylph's gaze challengingly. "Whom do _you _serve, Huaran?"

Huaran fell to his knees, dark eyes locked on Edmund's face. He mouth drew into a thin line. Before he could answer, the flap to Aslan's pavilion flew back and both leaders rejoined their people.

Aslan turned his golden head to look at the Pevensies. "The Witch has denounced her claim on Edmund and his forces," he said.

A small sound of relief whispered through the army, though the Guard only lowered their heads. Peter and his sisters all pressed closer to Edmund, torn between feeling pleased that he was theirs again and grief that their reunion had come so late.

The Witch sneered at Edmund's Guard, though her eyes lingered on Huaran. "You _would_ be with him. Your fate might have been kinder had you remained one of mine, Sylph."

"I was never yours!" Huaran cried, twisting where he knelt to face her with a livid glare. "I am my own!" His expression buckled with pain as he turned back to his lord. "And I was Edmund's."

"There will be no mercy shown or quarter given to any of you," the Witch announced.

"Nor to you," Bellus snarled, hackles lifting in his fury. "Flee while you can, Witch, and watch for us on the battlefield. We have nothing left to lose now."

She turned away, dismissing them, and climbed into her litter. Before she left, she addressed Aslan one last time: "How do I know your promise will be kept?"

Aslan roared at her, fueling the sound with all the anger and pain that came of losing a precious child. She stumbled back, dropping into her seat, and was quickly carried away.

When she was gone, Huaran turned to Edmund again, tears heavy in his eyes. He stretched out one long finger, drawing it down the bridge of the Human's nose. "Why did he not trust me?" he asked softly, leaning on Bellus slightly when the Wolf pressed against him. "I would have followed him anywhere. Why were all of you told and not I?"

"You were always so easily swayed by anything he said," Bellus murmured, pain laced through his low words. "There was no way of knowing what you truly believed. He couldn't risk the others he worked so hard to gather, no matter how much he loved you."

"Why did you follow him?" Lucy asked softly. "If Sylphs usually stay in the clouds, why did you come down to teach him?"

"I wanted something worthwhile," Huaran admitted with a shaky sigh. "Training Edmund was that for me. Of course I was easily swayed by him: I wanted to stay with him, to teach him, to do a worthy task. I would have been anything he wanted me to be." He lifted his hands helplessly, his form made slightly transparent by the wind rising around him. "And now he is gone."

Behind him, Philip picked up his head for the first time. "He has a brother and two sisters," the Horse observed, faintly but growing in strength and determination. "You were teaching him to fight the Witch, Huaran, though you did not know it. He wanted nothing more in the whole world than to see his brother and sisters rule over a free Narnia. We agreed to help him, and that task is still waiting for us." Philip drew courage from his memories of Edmund, of his proud, solemn face and the bright ring of his rare laughter. He stood, lifting his head defiantly, and settled his gaze on Peter. "I will fight until the Witch is overthrown, my king. I will fight for you."

Peter thinned his lips, unable to speak, and nodded once sharply.

Lucy's chin trembled for a moment. She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and got to her feet. After dashing the tears from her eyes, she set her mouth stubbornly and drew her small dagger. "For Edmund's sake," she swore, "we _will _win."

"For Edmund," Susan agreed.

Peter looked down at the precious face of his only brother. "For Edmund," he breathed, resolute in his oath.

"If not _for _Edmund," Aslan commented, pleased by their strength, "then at least _with _him. All is not lost for him," the Lion promised. "The Witch released him to me, though I do not think she understands the full meaning of what she has done. Bring me your brother, Peter."

Peter, with Susan and Lucy's help, stood with Edmund still cradled in his arms. A wild hope blossomed in his chest and he hastened to Aslan, though he was careful not to stumble. Susan and Lucy shadowed him, staying only a few paces back. When he reached the Lion, Peter knelt with Edmund, loosening his hold only enough so Aslan could see his brother's face and chest.

Aslan stepped forward, bending his neck to breathe gently on Edmund, rustling his dark hair and the torn remnants of his shirt. After that, he delicately sniffed at Edmund's chest, nosing aside the shirt until he could breathe directly onto the skin above his heart. After one more deep, warm exhalation, Aslan turned his head slightly, biting sideways at the air above the youngest Pevensie boy's chest. The shaft of an arrow made of ice shimmered between his great teeth, the head buried in Edmund's heart. Its magic resisted Aslan's powerful jaws for only a moment before it shattered with a soft tinkle. The pieces fell to the ground, melting upon contact. Aslan stepped back, watching, golden eyes warm.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then "Edmund!" Aslan commanded. "Edmund Pevensie, rise!"

With a gasp that healed a thousand souls, Edmund shuddered in Peter's arms and opened his eyes.

Peter heard his sisters cry out in shock and joy, heard the Guard roar with renewed hope, heard Aslan's warriors exclaim about the miracle. There were no words in his vocabulary to express the feeling that blocked his throat and pooled in his eyes. When Edmund shifted in his grip, warm and real and breathing, Peter gasped.

Edmund twisted a little more, and then their eyes met. Peter's were wide and filled with astonishment and tears; Edmund's held an echo of old pain and deep exhaustion and, after a moment, a glimmer of recognition. Wonder filled his expression, and he lifted one hand to touch his brother's face. "Peter?" he breathed in question.

The eldest Pevensie's thin control broke. He crushed Edmund to him, weeping loudly. Everything he could touch, he did: dark hair, pale face, curved neck. One large palm pressed over Ed's heart where the arrow had been, now nothing but warm skin and life.

"I'm all right," Edmund whispered, too tired to raise his voice, too content and well loved to want to move. "It's all right, Peter. I'm fine."

"You _idiot!" _Peter cried, rocking gently.

The girls plowed into them, bathing them both in kisses and warm tears. Lucy started laughing, which set Susan and Peter off. The laughter was more than half pure hysterics, but no one said as much. Edmund, feeling warn and heavy, smiled under the onslaught.

Then he saw Aslan, who smiled at him with benevolence unmatched in any other living creature.

Edmund stilled. His siblings noticed the change immediately. The girls drew back so he could meet the Lion properly. Peter shifted him slightly and otherwise refused to let go.

But there were some things Edmund had dreamed of doing since his first night in Narnia, and this was not one he would forego. He was too weak on his own, so he whispered, "Peter, help me stand."

Peter obeyed, adjusting his hold and slipping one arm around Edmund's waist. When they were upright, Edmund surprised him by saying softly, "And now, help me kneel."

With Peter's assistance, under the watch of his sisters, a hundred loyal Narnians and one great Lion, Edmund Pevensie dropped to his knees. "Aslan," he said, struggling to find words meaningful enough to present his Guard, to offer himself and his sword, to beg forgiveness and pledge his renewed life. All he could think of to say was, "Aslan."

The Lion smiled, warm and loving, an unvoiced benediction. He stepped forward, purring deeply when he rubbed his cheek against Edmund's, pressing the boy further into the brother that knelt by his side. "Welcome home, dear one. You have done well indeed in your many trials. Rest now and be comforted. You and yours are welcomed and blessed."

"We saved the hunting party," he whispered, swaying slightly in his fatigue.

The Lion pulled back to smile at him again. "You saved a good deal more than that. Look around you: see all the lives that are here thanks to _you."_

Edmund obeyed, eyes drifting from Bellus to the Animals arrayed behind him to Fauns Tumnus and Deolith, lingering on the unexpected addition of Huaran before setting at last on Philip, who dipped his head to nibble his Human's dark hair. He wanted to lift a hand to stroke that velvety nose, but he lacked the strength. Instead, he turned his face toward his dear friend and asked, "The army, Philip?"

"Arrayed on the fields behind us, being fitted for proper armor as we speak."

A gentle smile curved Edmund's mouth. He unconsciously leaned further against Peter, shutting his eyes briefly. Peter hugged him tightly with the arm still wrapped firmly around his waist. "I brought them for you," Edmund murmured drowsily, already drifting toward sleep. "It's your army, Peter."

Peter hummed into his dark hair, hiding a kiss there. "It's _our _army, Ed, yours and mine and Aslan's. And with it we'll free Narnia, just like you wanted."

Edmund made a small, content sound, and Aslan chuckled. He laid one paw on Edmund's slight shoulder before commanding, "Rise, Sir Edmund of the How, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Table!"

The Narnians all cheered, throwing banners and loose cloth into the air. One of the Birds had torn the black mourning standard from Peter and Edmund's pavilion, and now they set it on fire. Huaran lifted wind around it as it burned, pulling it into the air so they could watch it turn to ash. When it was gone, they all cheered again.

Peter once more helped Edmund stand. Flanked by their sisters, the boys gave Aslan an uncoordinated bow.

Aslan chuckled at their effort. "Go now, children, rest and eat. There is much work to be done. And I suspect your doctor will want to examine you thoroughly, Edmund, to gauge the extent of your healing."

A glance at Deolith proved this to be true. The old Faun bowed to his monarchs and hurried to the healers' tent to collect his supplies, towing Tumnus along as a helper. Edmund saw and sighed a little, shaking his head ruefully. "I really do feel perfectly well," he offered. He betrayed the depth of his own denial when his knees promptly buckled. If Peter hadn't kept one arm tight around him, Edmund would have tumbled to the ground again.

"None of that," Peter admonished mildly. Without waiting for Edmund to collect his strength again, the eldest Pevensie bent slightly to catch up his brother's legs. Edmund squawked indignantly when Peter picked him up. Peter just smiled at him.

He pouted mightily but remained captive, too weary to launch a formal protest.

"Take him to your pavilion," Aslan commanded, his voice warm with good humor and love for them. "See to his comfort and health, for he has grown too used to caring for himself and does not yet realize how sorely he needs the help."

"Wait, Aslan," Edmund begged, stretching one hand out to the Lion. Aslan moved forward until the slim fingers could tangle in his mane. "You've done so much for us. Isn't there anything we can do for you?"

The Great Cat seemed to hesitate, and some dark shadow of pain flickered briefly across his face. Only Lucy really noticed it, but Aslan smiled kindly before she could comment. "You are here, dear one, and you love me. What more could I possibly want?"

His answer didn't satisfy Edmund, but there was little he could do about it when Aslan gently dismissed them. Peter inclined his head and carried his brother away, flanked by their sisters.

Lucy glanced back to check on the Lion, concerned by the brief glimmer of sadness in his golden eyes, but he had already vanished into his pavilion.


	7. Chapter Six

AN: You guys are just amazing—again! Your reviews were so wonderful. I am so deeply touched by your constant outpouring of kind words. What a wonderful fandom!

I'm not sure if I've made it blaringly obvious yet, but I love the PeternandEd brother dynamic. They're just endlessly fun to play with! So this is my PeterandEd fluff chapter. The plot moves along maybe two inches. We'll just save that for next time!

And I really wanted to "WHA-HAHAHAHAHA!" in the AN for the previous two chapters, but I didn't want to give anything away or detract from the sheer torment. Or, y'know, come across like the giant baby I really am. I also wanted to say, "The Cheetah mourning song I mentioned gets its spirit from 'Rafiki Mourns', a track from the Lion King Broadway score. Good song, and worth a listen." But again with the giving things away. You were all probably suspicious enough as it was, and I didn't want to confirm anything.

One more chapter and a wee tiny epilogue, everyone. We're almost done!

The Winter Prince:

Chapter Six

Due to the excitement of Edmund's impossible awakening, the afternoon meal—long delayed while Human children waited for their brother—was a loud, wildly joyous affair. Everyone wanted to know more about the younger Pevensie boy, about what he had done and sacrificed, and the Western Army was proud to share whatever they could. The ones with all the best stories, though, were the Guard, and they spent their time prowling around Peter and Edmund's pavilion, protecting the Humans inside.

Deolith was more annoyed by the uproar in camp than a part of it. He descended upon Edmund in much the same way he usually did, which was expected by Edmund and his Guard but not his siblings. The Faun tenaciously logged every scrape, bruise, and abnormality, no matter how trivial, compiling a long list of teas and salves to be administered. His inventory was so thorough that Peter shooed Lucy and Susan away before they could become dismayed. The girls promised to occupy themselves with searching out proper attire for their brother and food for them all.

"There appears to be no permanent damage from the curse wound," Deolith concluded at last, sending Tumnus back to the healers' tent with a long script of potions and teas. "In fact, I cannot detect it at all. Ah, my boy." He touched his forehead to his patient's. "You were very lucky."

Edmund laughed softly, shutting his eyes. "I am very _blessed, _dear doctor," he corrected. "Without Aslan to call me back, I would have been lost to her spell forever." Deolith sighed in acknowledgment and backed away. Edmund, recognizing that the exam was over, rose from the small table he'd sat on throughout. When he wobbled slightly, Peter steadied him, earning a grateful smile.

"You will have to be quite carefulfor a few days still," the Faun advised. He and Peter helped Edmund into one of Peter's oversized nightshirts before settling him in a large pile of blankets and pillows on the ground. They claimed it was so he could sit up to eat without fighting a hammock, but Edmund noticed that Peter sat very close to him and hid a smile.

Deolith touched a finger to Edmund's chin, drawing his attention. The doctor's eyes were serious when he said, "I do mean this, Edmund. You must take care not to strain yourself."

"I'll be fine," the dark haired boy promised, taking the Faun's hand in his and pressing it gently.

"You always say that," Deolith sighed, shaking his head. "And you never manage to truly mean it."

"I do mean it," Edmund protested, but he quailed under his doctor's frown, taking refuge behind Peter's shoulder.

Instead of helping against Deolith, the older brother helped against Edmund, grinning broadly. "I'll make sure he isn't taxed," Peter swore, twisting one hand around to tickle lightly at Edmund's unprotected side. "It will be my personal mission to mind him."

Edmund made an undignified sound and squirmed away. "I don't need _minding!"_

"Mind yourselves," Susan called, holding the tent flap aside so both Lucy and Tumnus could pass through before her. "We come bearing refreshments and medicine." She smiled at her brothers, not sure why they were laughing but enjoying the sound of it.

Even Deolith chuckled, accepting parcels from Tumnus and a teapot filled with hot water from Lucy. He busily set to brewing while Susan piled clothing on Edmund's unused hammock. The medicinal drinks were given into Peter, Susan, and Lucy's care with orders that Edmund swallow every last drop. With one final warning for his patient to behave, Deolith collected Tumnus and took his leave.

Edmund was persuaded to follow orders with much less fuss than initially anticipated. The teas were foul, if his expression was anything to go by, but he submitted with unexpected good grace.

"Well done," Susan praised, pressing a small glass of fruit juice into her little brother's hand.

"Lots of practice," he admitted, taking a sip and rolling it around his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

"That sounds like the beginning of a story!" Lucy popped up to fetch the large tray of food they'd collected, settling it on the blankets before resuming her seat burrowed against Edmund. "Eat up," she instructed brightly, "and tell us about your adventures!"

Peter and Susan traded a glance over their siblings' heads when Edmund immediately obeyed the first order but not the second. They could see he was too tired to tell his story in its fullness, so took advantage of his natural curiosity to delve into their own tales.

Edmund ate all the food pressed on him by his sisters, dark eyes sharp with interest as he paid rapt attention to the story of Peter's knighting. "Maugrim never liked me," he admitted at the end, smiling with fierce pride at Peter. His siblings, knotted close to his side, were using any excuse to touch him. They took his hand or brushed a shoulder or gently petted his hair or cheek. After all he'd been through to reunite with them, Edmund found he didn't mind. "I'm glad you were able to show him the danger of poking at Humans. It was a lesson he sorely needed."

Peter hesitated before confessing, "For a moment, after it was done and we came to understand all you'd been doing here, I was afraid he might have been someone you…valued, or at least might have missed."

Edmund laughed. "No, Maugrim would have happily seen me turned into a statue in the Witch's courtyard, and some days it took Philip and Bellus both to prevent me from challenging that wicked Animal. He was cruel, Peter, to those around him and those who served him equally. What you did was a service to Narnia. Don't regret it."

Peter reached out to squeeze Edmund's shoulder, sharing a warm smile with him.

Lucy took over the story then, backtracking a bit to tell about their midnight race through the forest. She was excited enough in her recollection that it kept Edmund alert, but Susan saw his energy flagging. When Lucy paused between tales to take a breath, the elder girl broke in smoothly with an account of the Naiads and Dryads who liked to help the girls dress and what they had selected for Edmund to wear.

Usually Peter would have saved Edmund from so much talk about clothing, but he saw Edmund's eyes begin to droop and recognized Susan's trick. When Ed had been much younger, he went through a period where the only person who could get him to take his afternoon naps was Susan, whose voice seemed to all but hypnotize him.

Using Dryads as her segue, Susan dropped into a soft rendition of a traditional Nymph lullaby she and Lucy had learned only a short while ago. Before she reached the first chorus, Edmund was deeply asleep.

She finished the song anyway.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Edmund woke a few hours before dusk, itching to start preparing for battle against the Witch.

"You aren't _well," _Susan protested, trying to stop him from going outside by keeping his shirt from him.

He was too quick for it to work, though, and danced around her to snatch the clothing from her grip. "I'm well enough," he insisted, struggling to tug the shirt on properly.

Susan sighed, relenting as she helped him. She smoothed a few nonexistent wrinkles from his shoulders, fussing over him while he would still put up with it. "Be careful," she cautioned, folding him into a hug. "We couldn't survive losing you again."

"You won't have to," he promised, hugging back fiercely for a moment before dashing out to join Peter.

Oreius waited there, Edmund's sword held lightly in his right hand. He turned the weapon, offering it to its owner hilt-first. "Your people are delivered," the Centaur said formally. "I restore this to its proper place."

"Thank you," Edmund replied, accepting his sword with the easy grace born of great familiarity. He smiled a little wickedly at Oreius, his eyes drifting sideways to the long silhouette of Huaran, who leaned lightly against the side of his kings' pavilion. "I'm just always misplacing trifling things like this. It was good of you to return it, though I'm sure I could have found another lying around the camp."

Huaran huffed, clearly offended, and vanished in a strong gust.

Edmund, still grinning, sheathed his sword. "It was made by his people," he explained to Peter and Oreius, "and is more a treasure than a trifle."

"You always did know just how to make people angry," Peter laughed, ruffling Edmund's hair.

"It's a gift," Edmund agreed, ducking his brother's hand.

Before anything else, Edmund wanted to conduct a formal review of the Western Army with Peter, Aslan, and Oreius as a show of respect and to let them see for themselves that he was all right. Aslan, engaged with plans in his pavilion, was unable to accompany them. When his siblings would have used this as an excuse to postpone the review, Edmund put his foot down, insisting that it be conducted immediately, as was proper.

Peter and Susan thought this was a terrible idea, mostly because their brother was still weak as a newborn kitten. Lucy believed that Ed had the right to decide what he was capable of doing for himself (providing he allowed one of them to accompany him at all times in case his decision was wrong). In the end, they compromised, and Edmund consented to riding Philip instead of walking. To make it seem more like riding was their intent and less like Edmund was being bullied, Peter rode his own war mount, the Unicorn Flisk.

The Western Army was in top form when Edmund and Peter trotted through the ranks, shadowed by Oreius. The soldiers kept their eyes forward, their bodies still.

"They're well trained," Oreius observed, cataloguing potential strengths and weaknesses. "None of us expected to find true warriors here."

"One of the legends associated with the Winter Prince is that I used to kill those solders I decided not to like," Edmund explained, turning to favor Peter and the General with a cold, hard smile. "The reason the Guard sometimes lost members is because sometimes they wanted to join the army, to help it earn its name. They've been running nearly continuous drills practically since their inception. I 'lost' four good Guards at once that way, back in the beginning."

Peter hesitated a few moments before blurting, "Did you really ever kill them, Edmund?"

His brother's smile warmed. "No, not any of mine. Sometimes we would stage fights so we could cut the Witch's forces down a little, but the ones I killed or made disappear when I was the Winter Prince are all alive, in one place or another."

They rode in silence for an extended time. When they reached the front and turned their mounts to face the army, Peter said quietly, "It must have been hard."

"Yes," Edmund agreed, "but it was worth it."

After another time of silence, Oreius prompted, "Did either of you wish to address the troops, Your Majesties?"

"Yes, Peter," Edmund teased, dark eyes filled with humor. "Do say something."

Peter went red, but mastered himself enough to say, "Welcome, warriors of the Western Army. Your service to Narnia is a credit to us all."

The army roared its approval.

"Your turn," Peter told his brother a touch smugly.

Edmund surveyed his people, remembering all they had been through together before he began speaking. "This is only the beginning of our dream," he said to them, his voice pitched to carry. Philip danced under him, restless with the energy of his rider, and Edmund gently urged him back into line next to Flisk. "Our hard-won day is here," he continued. "The army that waited in darkness marches in sunlight. What we have spoken in whispers now will be our battle cry." He punched one fist into the air, shouting, _"For Narnia!"_ Philip reared and whinnied, of one mind with his rider.

"Narnia!" the army echoed, swords and spears and fists raised high.

So "_Narnia!" _he called.

And "NARNIA!" they roared, until their voices shook the whole camp.

From his pavilion, Aslan roared in counterpoint, well pleased by them all.

Edmund drew his sword. It glinted in the sunlight when he used it to salute his brother. "We will follow you, Peter," he vowed, "in this and all things. To the end of the world."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Listen, Ed…I've been thinking."

Edmund paused in the middle of getting ready for his ridiculously early bedtime. His shirt was half over his head, which saved him from having to glance back at Peter, whose uncommonly solemn tone implied heavy thoughts and grim decisions. A wide assortment of initial responses flickered through the younger boy's mind, and he settled on the one least likely to egg Peter on in the wrong direction. "Oh?" he teased, pulling the shirt all the way off. "Was it painful?"

Peter frowned at him, settling sideways onto Edmund's hammock while he watched his brother carefully change for the night. Getting Ed to agree to take it easy was, in theory, simple. Getting him to comply had been considerably more difficult, and Peter knew if he left the pavilion Edmund would soon be deep in discussion with one of his Guard, plotting the Witch's ultimate downfall. "I'm serious," he insisted, crossing his feet at the ankles.

"Are you ever _not _serious?" Edmund wondered, easing into nightclothes.

"Tomorrow after you've eaten," Peter continued, ignoring the rhetorical question, "I want you and the girls to pack some food and go back home." Edmund startled, obviously shocked, and whirled to face his brother. Peter's expression was completely resolute. "I promised I'd keep you three safe, but there's no reason I can't stay and help."

For a long moment, Edmund was silent, dark eyes studying Peter carefully. He perched on the edge of a table, thinking quickly. "They need all four of us," he said slowly, turning this new development over in his mind.

"It's too dangerous," the elder insisted, frowning. He tucked his hands under his arms, glancing away. "You died, Eddy," he whispered, trembling at the memory of it. "I don't know how you were able to come back, but for a time you were gone. I couldn't handle it if something like that happened again, not to the girls, and certainly not to _you_. You've done enough." Finally he looked up, blue eyes hard. "Go home. I'll handle the rest."

Edmund drummed his fingers on his thighs, considering. "Putting aside the issue of there being _four _thrones, which you cannot fill on your own no matter how determined you are, have you spoken to the girls about this? Do they agree with you?"

Peter glanced away, a tell that Edmund noted for later. It would need to be trained out of him before he began seeing dignitaries as High King. No use showing his hand early, after all. "I'm sure they agree that we don't want any more harm coming to you."

"What then of the Narnians, and the harm that will come to them in our absence?" Edmund asked kindly. He smiled when Peter's troubled gaze snapped to him. "Like it or not, we're responsible for these people now, Peter. And _I'm _sure the girls will side with me if it comes to a question of our leaving or staying. We belong to Narnia. We must fight for them, and with them. We are kings now." He smiled a touch crookedly. "Kings tend not to run from Witches."

After a minute of silence, Peter exhaled in a long sigh. "The girls already decided to fight," he admitted with a helpless shrug. "I thought that if I could convince you to go, they'd follow, but I guess I'll just have to give it up as a bad job all around. We're staying, then."

"Of course we're staying," Edmund dismissed easily, flopping sideways on his hammock next to Peter. They curled together automatically, like puppies in a basket, seeking warmth and reassurance. At length Edmund asked, "When did the girls decide they would stay?"

"Earlier, when you were…"

"Sleeping?" Ed suggested, kicking one leg so the hammock would rock gently.

Peter wrapped an arm around him, tugging him closer. "_Were _you sleeping? It didn't seem that way to me, though of course it was what I'd hoped."

"It was sleeping, of a sort." He paused before admitting, "It was also death, of a sort. Were it not for Aslan, I would have stayed that way forever, like any of the other victims of Her Majesty's displeasure. Luckily for me, there was Aslan."

"Lucky for us all," Peter murmured into his brother's dark hair. Though the sun had set less than an hour ago, Edmund was already exhausted. He lay heavily against Peter, head pillowed on his shoulder, and began to drift in the warm, pleasant overtures of sleep.

"I missed you," the younger boy mumbled softly, drugged with slumber and perfectly content. He felt his brother's arms tighten but had already closed his eyes and so did not see the tears his confession produced. "When it was cold or dark or I was very frightened or unsure, I would think of you. I wanted you there with me. The strangest moments were usually the ones when something terrible was happening," he said faintly. "I would ask Aslan to send you to me, and also that he would keep you far away, where it was safe. He must have been so dreadfully confused."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, tangling his fingers in Edmund's hair. He put all his love and sadness and admiration into a kiss that he tucked quietly behind one pale ear. "How did you come to be so wonderful?"

"It wasn't hard," the boy divulged, sighing deeply and contentedly. "I just asked myself, 'What would Peter do if he were here?'"

"No, Eddy," Peter corrected gently, pulling a light cover over both of them. "All you ever had to be was _you_."

Edmund hummed, not in agreement but in happy response to the comforting sound of his brother's voice.

Peter chuckled, settling in for the night despite his initial resolution to be useful to the camp for a few more hours. The most important thing in all of Narnia was curled against him like a drowsy kitten, dropping quickly into another badly needed healing rest. His place was here, wrapped in the lullaby of Edmund's heartbeat. "Sleep well," he advised, pillowing his cheek on soft, dark hair. "Last I heard, your Wolf Bellus was at the head of a long line of Narnians queued to take you to task for your behavior today. And after that, there will be councils and battle plans and war. For now," he whispered, "sleep, little brother. There are none who deserve it more."

In this, at least, Edmund obeyed. After a short time, Peter joined him. When the sun rose, their sisters were gone and the Lion was dead.

It was not an auspicious start to the day.


	8. Chapter Seven

AN: Ta-da! The end (almost). Don't forget the wee tiny epilogue that comes after this! It should be up in a few days.

…And by that I mean, y'know…tomorrow-ish.

Geh, I love some of the imagery in this chapter. Is that egotistical?

The Winter Prince:

Chapter Seven

Lucy would never be quite sure of what woke her. She and Susan had outlasted their brothers by nearly four hours, speaking with Edmund's Guard in an attempt to make them feel welcomed as well as learn what they could about the Witch's weaknesses.

Unfortunately, she did not seem to have many.

"She will be furious when she discovers Edmund is alive," one of the Wolves that was not Bellus said with a bark of laughter. (Bellus slept at the entrance of Edmund and Peter's pavilion, both to watch over them and so he could have a word with Edmund as soon as he woke.) He and several others from the Guard were sitting with Lucy and Susan around a campfire, sharing tales of adventure that Susan enjoyed only when she could divorce the idea of Edmund-the-Winter-Prince from Edmund-her-baby-brother. "How she hates to be beaten!"

"I suppose she'll have to get used to it," Lucy observed with a sleepy grin. The Narnians around her laughed, thrilled by her obvious faith in their ability to succeed.

Susan smiled prettily, standing in an elegant motion. She stretched a little and hid a yawn, offering one hand to Lucy. "If we're to be of any use tomorrow, we should probably get some sleep while we can." The Guard chorused goodnights, posting a watch once their queens were securely inside their pavilion.

Lucy was warm and safe, so she wasn't sure at first why she woke. After a moment of thought, she saw a shadow moving across the pavilion and quickly scrambled to her sister's side. "Susan," she whispered urgently, shaking her. "Susan, wake up!"

The older girl propped herself up on one elbow, preparing a lecture, but she quickly noticed the shadow that had disturbed Lucy's sleep. They traded concerned glances, recognizing that silhouette even after so short a time. Tiptoeing away was difficult, mostly due to the tenacity of the Guard, made more so by the un-death of their favorite Human. Whatever caused the camp to not notice Aslan's departure, however, stretched to include them. They were confused and thankful in equal measure as they followed Aslan into the forest, creeping after him as quietly as mice.

But of course he knew them and knew that they were with him. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" he asked mildly, pausing in his journey to allow them to catch up. They ran lightly across the grass, tucking close by his side. Delicate hands rested on his golden fur, and for a moment he was comforted.

"We couldn't sleep," Lucy admitted, petting him fondly.

"Please, Aslan," Susan implored. "Couldn't we come with you?"

"I would be glad of the company tonight," the Lion admitted. They walked with him, as worried by his silence as they were calmed by his presence.

Their worry doubled when at length he stopped to say, "It is time. From now on, I must go on alone." He nodded to each of them in turn. "Thank you, Susan. Thank you, Lucy. And farewell."

_Farewell? _When Aslan was gone, Lucy went to Susan, holding her tightly. Susan stroked her sister's hair, frightened and thinking. "Let's go," she suggested in a whisper, taking Lucy's hand to lead her forward.

They followed him to the edge of an open meadow dominated by a huge stone table built upon an even larger stone dais. The White Witch stood upon the Table, surrounded by a crowd of jeering, hideous Fell Beasts that taunted Aslan as he walked through them.

"Why doesn't he fight back?" Lucy gasped. Susan had no answer. Instead she held her sister tighter, determined to bear witness.

When the White Witch spoke, her beautiful, wicked voice carried across the meadow to the listening girls. "Bind him," she ordered, cruel delight laced through the command. When the Fell moved to obey, she cried, "Wait! Let him first be _shaved."_

Susan watched them obey, petting Lucy's hair when the youngest Pevensie turned her face away, tears hot on her cheeks. She felt Lucy shift in the slightest degree, keeping a sidelong view of the horrendous spectacle, as compelled to witness as her sister was.

"Tonight the Deep magic will be appeased," the Witch called to her monstrous troops, her blade and arms lifted high, "but tomorrow, we will take Narnia. _Forever!"_ Her attention turned to Aslan, maliciously triumphant, and she knelt by his bound head. "I'm a little disappointed in you," she admitted, her mouth curved in a wicked smirk. "The Human boy is already dead. You failed both him _and _your precious Prophesy. Did you really think that by giving your life you would save his worthless Guard? Ha. You are giving up your life, and saving no one." She shrugged easily, head tilted in amusement. "So much for love."

The Witch drew back enough to lift her dagger into the air. "In that knowledge," she commanded, voice ringing dark and terrible, "despair...and _die_!" She drove her weapon deep into his side, spilling lifeblood.

Aslan gasped once, jerking as pain pierced him, and fell limp.

Susan and Lucy smothered each other's wails of shock.

"The Great Cat is DEAD!" shrieked the Witch. Her people frenzied around her, wild with her triumph. "General," she commanded, tossing the dagger aside, "gather your army and prepare for battle." A brittle laugh filled the clearing. "However short it may be."

Within minutes, the Fell Beasts and their Queen were gone. Susan and Lucy ran to Aslan, collapsing over him and weeping on his pelt.

"Not again," Susan gasped, fisting her hands against his cold golden side. "Not again, Aslan, _please."_ Lucy starting clawing at her belt, struggling to free her cordial. "It's too late," the older girl said shakily, reaching out to lay a hand over her sister's. "He's gone."

Lucy's face crumpled in grief. The sisters curled against Aslan, crying softly, until the tiniest of scrabbling noise reached them.

Mice were covering the ropes used to bind Aslan, and at first the girls didn't understand. "Get away," Susan begged, shooing at them uselessly.

Lucy sniffled, watching for a moment. "No," she realized quietly. "_Look."_ The mice were freeing Aslan, nibbling through the cruel ropes. Susan and Lucy helped them, pulling the ruined edges free before tugging off the loops around the Lion's muzzle.

Lucy stroked Aslan when he was free, laying her cheek on his soft, shorn fur.

Susan let her have one final lingering moment. "We have to tell Peter and Edmund," she said at last, wiping her face harshly as she fought for composure. "We have to go."

"We can't just leave him here," Lucy cried, clinging to the Lion.

"There isn't _time," _Susan protested.

But Lucy wouldn't move. She glanced around desperately, refusing to be defeated in this. "The trees," she realized, stretching one hand out to them desperately.

The wind carried a Dryad to them, and it was that Dryad they sent to their brothers. Once their message was taken, they curled against the Lion again, lost to their grief.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"It's true," Peter realized, completely numb as he exited Aslan's pavilion. Oreius, Edmund and Bellus all waited for him by a small model of the battlefield, complete with figures to represent both forces. "He's gone."

Edmund glanced back at Oreius before meeting Bellus' determined eyes. "You'll lead us, Peter," he said firmly, turning to his brother. He caught Peter's incredulous gaze and nodded decisively. "The armies are waiting to follow you—"

"I can't," Peter interrupted, terrified.

"You can," Edmund insisted. "Aslan believed that, and so do I. He never asked anything of me I wasn't capable of giving, and he wouldn't ask this of you if you weren't ready. You _can _do this, and you will."

Peter looked instinctively to General Oreius, not sure if he sought confirmation or a replacement.

The General inclined his head, faith and loyalty burning in his eyes. "The Witch's army is nearing, sire. What are your orders?"

The eldest Pevensie took a deep breath and began outlining his plan. As he had suspected the day before, Edmund was nearly as great a help as Oreius, pointing out weaknesses the Witch would exploit to her advantage. What he had not anticipated was the additional input of at first Bellus and then Huaran, who knew the Witch's tactics and could offer unique insight.

When Edmund stated absently that he would of course be riding at the front with Peter, Huaran began laughing. He laughed so long and hard that he had Peter completely befuddled and Edmund frowning deeply.

"What is wrong with you?" the younger king demanded. "You are no use to us on the field if you have lost your mind!"

"And _you _are no use on the field," the Sylph pointed out, still chuckling, "if you cannot even sit your horse."

Bellus quickly backed away from Edmund. Oreius, unsure but extremely cautious, placed himself behind his kings, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Peter, oblivious to the warning signs, looked between his brother and Huaran in concern.

Edmund bristled, furious. "What exactly are you trying to say, Sylph?"

"I am not _trying _to say anything," Huaran taunted, crossing his long arms. "What I am _clearly _saying is that you, little king, are much too weak to be on the front line. As your brother suggested, you must stay with the archers. Otherwise you would be more of a liability than an asset."

"Nothing about me is weak," Edmund said in the dead calm that made Bellus whine and flatten his ears. "And I _will _ride with my brother."

"Now, Ed," Peter tried to soothe.

Before he could get any further, Huaran lashed out in a motion so fast it blurred his form. Peter heard the clash of metal-on-metal before he realized that the Sylph had struck at his brother with a sword. Peter had a heartbeat to register amazement that Edmund had drawn his own weapon in time to parry the blow, and then the two were twisting around each other in a fluid form of swordplay that not even Oreius recognized. They danced and ducked, searching for opportunity while giving none of their own. Peter was terrified for Edmund until Oreius settled a large hand on his shoulder.

"It's only a practice fight," the Centaur promised, his eyes locked on the combatants. "The Sylph is testing him."

"Oh dear," Deolith sighed from behind Peter. The boy whirled to find most of the Guard and no few Narnians watching the mock battle. "Not this again. Who said what to set them off?"

Bellus snorted. "Edmund thinks he can ride at the front with his brother."

Philip, who was among the spectators, huffed and stamped one hoof on the ground. "He would have to find another mount. I would not carry him in his condition."

Deolith smiled slightly. "Huaran will make sure he doesn't get the opportunity to search for an Animal stupid enough to not care about that."

Peter knew Edmund was still wobbly and sore from his experiences the day before, but he was deeply conflicted with this method of ensuring his place far back behind the lines. "I want him safe," he found himself saying worriedly. The sharp metallic hiss of blades drawn against each other called his attention back to his brother. "Not incapacitated."

"Huaran would never hurt him," Snow Leopard Kartha said certainly. "Huaran loves Edmund."

The Human in question took a heavy strike, barely deflecting it with his own weapon. Peter winced. "What does he fight like when he _doesn't _like his opponent?"

None of the Guard would answer. Their silence was somehow more frightening than any stories of gore could have been, and Peter shivered despite himself.

"Told you he was a devil with a blade," Beaver muttered, thanking Aslan once again that the Winter Prince was on their side after all.

"Ah!" one of the Hawks of the Guard cried, extending his wings in excitement. "It's over!"

Peter wasn't sure what he meant until Edmund visibly faltered, right knee buckling under the strain of his exhaustion. Instead of landing another harsh blow, Huaran twisted, his form dissolving to gather again around the boy. He lifted Edmund into his long, powerful arms, the Human's small sword held easily in one hand. "_Behind_ the lines," he insisted, setting Edmund on his feet.

Panting and covered in a light sheen of sweat, Edmund scowled fiercely but made no reply, sheathing his sword when it was returned to him.

"Stubborn," Philip complained, stretching out his neck when Edmund approached him. He nibbled the dark hair, reassured when the boy stroked his soft nose gently.

"I will stand with the archers," Edmund conceded reluctantly, lungs still working hard as he glared at Peter's battle plans.

"That's good," Peter agreed, quirking a smile at the dark look Ed shot him.

"The Witch!" a Gryphon called, wheeling above them and accenting his warning with a raptor's scream. "The Witch approaches! To arms, Narnians! _To arms!"_

"Not quite as good," Edmund observed sagely.

Peter shoved him once before an army of Dwarfs swept them away to be properly fitted for battle.

Soon they were arrayed on the field of war, watching the Witch's approach, one Pevensie son at the front, one on the bluffs behind. Unicorn Flisk moved restlessly under Peter, wanting to charge, needing to run and fight.

The Gryphon sentry landed beside Peter and Oreius, breathing heavily. "They come, your highness, in numbers and weapons far greater than our own."

"Numbers do not win a battle," Oreius insisted, flicking his tail and stomping one hoof.

"No," Peter agreed, wanting to turn and look for Edmund but remembering his brother's advice on appearing strong for their troops, "but I bet they help." The Witch's forces bellowed and charged, and Peter looked to Oreius. "Are you with me?" he asked solemnly.

In the boy's face, Oreius saw hope and determination and a king he could proudly serve, so he gave the only response he could: "To the death."

Flisk reared under Peter when the young king thrust his sword violently into the air. "For Narnia!" he cried, voice ringing even into the cliffs where his brother waited. "And for _ASLAN!"_

His armies roared behind him as he thundered across the field, a streak of white and red and gold so bright and magnificent that Edmund's breath caught in his throat. "For Narnia and Aslan," he whispered to himself, softly and fiercely enough that only Beaver heard him. "And for _Peter!"_

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

When the sun spilled over them, Susan lifted her tear-streaked face from Aslan's side. She sat up, drawing Lucy with her. "We should go," she murmured.

Lucy's head remained bowed. She rubbed her arms. "I'm so cold." They supported each other as they stood, moving slowing back toward the forest. Before they had taken three steps, a great thundering crash shook the ground beneath them. Once they regained their footing, they turned quickly to check on Aslan.

The Stone Table was broken jaggedly in two, rubble spread around it. Aslan was gone.

"What have they done!" Susan cried, devastated all over again. She caught Lucy when the younger girl tried to run forward.

Then the sunlight brightened around them, blinding them for only a moment. When they could see, the Lion stood before them, whole and perfect and golden.

"_Aslan!"_ they exclaimed, rushing to his side. He chuckled when they threw their arms as far around his neck as they could reach.

"We saw the Witch!" Susan gasped, filled with so much joy that even her confusion could not stand against it for long. "The _knife!"_

Aslan turned to face the broken Table, content to have the girls on either side of him. "If the Witch knew the true meaning of sacrifice," he said gravely, "she might have interpreted the Deep Magic a little differently. For she would know that if a willing victim who had committed no treachery died in a traitor's stead, the Stone Table would crack and death itself would begin to unwind."

"We sent the word that you were dead," Susan explained quickly, worried for her brothers. "Peter and Edmund would have gone to war."

"We have to help them," Lucy agreed, her spirit bold as the Lion's when she drew her little dagger.

Aslan flicked one ear, warmed with love for them both. "We will," he agreed, "but not alone. Edmund worked hard to save as many loyal Narnians as he could, but not even his efforts could protect them all. Our work is with them." He shifted, crouching to be nearer the ground. "Climb on my back, dear ones. We have a long way to go and little time to get there." When they were settled, he laughed gently. "And you might want to cover your ears."

He let loose a roar that rattled leaves and branches in the trees, shaking the ground to its very foundation and touching even the Sylphs hidden high among the clouds. Lucy and Susan heard the roar from its origin, heard it and were moved, and when he ran they knew nothing but their love for him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Putting aside the fact that they were losing, Edmund thought the battle was going quite well. Their forces had drawn back to the cliffs, so he was able to fight after all, and his vantage point was such that he could glance out to check on his brother and their people.

Bellus and Huaran were mighty opponents, tearing through the Witch's ranks with all the skills they had long kept hidden. Peter also was fearsome, and Edmund wondered with a tinge of awe what he would be like properly trained.

The Witch, though, moved across the battlefield leaving useless statues in the place of warriors. Edmund saw no small number of his Guard fall to utter stillness under her touch and felt a rising storm of righteous anger.

How much more could she possibly take from him?

He knew the moment she saw Peter. Oreius and one of his Rhinoceros Captains recognized her intent as well, rushing her with swords and horn. Her hoard cut down the Captain, and she herself killed Oreius, turning him to stone with an absent touch of her wand.

_Peter, _Edmund thought, terrified when he realized his brother had not noticed the Witch's approach. _Peter!_

When he moved to make an opponent of himself, Beaver grabbed his hand, tugging urgently. "Peter said to keep you _away _from her! He wanted you safe!"

Edmund shook him off, though not unkindly. "Peter's not king yet," he said grimly, shedding excess weight by tossing his shield aside. He adjusted his grip on his sword, darting through the writhing throng of battle with his eyes locked on the Witch.

Bellus noticed his purpose first but was too far to do anything but howl, "Edmund! _No!"_

It was his call that caught the Witch's attention. She looked up just in time for her Winter Prince to drop from a ledge with his sword bearing down on her. For a moment after she dodged, she could only stare at him, shocked. "You're _dead,"_ she growled, furious that he would dare survive her magic.

"No," he countered, wearing his most aggravating and ferocious grin, the one he usually showed her warriors right before he turned on them. "I am _Aslan's!"_

They fought only briefly. Despite the intensity of his training with Huaran, he had spent less than a year working on swordsmanship, and she had devoted herself to killing for ages untold. If he had actually been trying to kill or injure her, he might have gotten in a good blow before the end.

Her life, however, was not his aim.

He forced her into turning, picking at her defense until she grew frustrated with him and lifted her wand. Then he twisted sharply, leaving himself open so he could bring his sword down in a swift, heavy blow. The wand shattered with the delicate sound of crystal on glass. For a moment, he felt a thrill of success, of justice, so powerful it burned out the knowledge of what would come next.

She broke that feeling by slipping the jagged remains of her wand through his tattered guard, piercing his middle from front to back.

Edmund gasped softly, a long drag of air pulled through bloodless lips. His dark eyes lifted to hers, filled with defiance and resolve.

The Witch pushed a little deeper, jerking his body when she added a cruel twist. "Now," she murmured into his ear, "you are dead."

"Now," he breathed into hers, "you are Aslan's." A smile curled one corner of his mouth.

The thread of fear that moved through her was so unexpected that she flinched back slightly. Furious at the triumph in his expression, she wrenched her most powerful weapon from his gut, tossing it aside. He dropped bonelessly to the ground, and she picked up his own sword to use against his precious troops and beloved brother.

"I will kill them all," she told his corpse. "There is nothing you or your Guard or any of these pathetic armies can do to stop me. The Lion," she laughed, tossing her head so the collar she made of Aslan's mane flashed in the sun, "is _dead!"_

"Edmund!" she heard the brother scream. She looked up to see him charging her, bright and bold and too late as he cut through her forces.

"You'll be first," she hummed pleasantly.

The ground trembled beneath her feet when she met the brother's first blow. She let him think he was holding even with her before raining her prowess on his helpless body. Drunk on her own power, she assumed at first the roaring was in her ears. She lifted Edmund's sword for the killing blow, her face twisted in victory.

The roaring grew at last to be more than her imagination. Shocked, she looked up.

Her last view of life was the Lion's mouth, the last sound his furious snarl.

Then there was nothing but terrible silence.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Lucy and Susan leapt from Aslan's back when he ordered it, standing still as a throng of revived Narnians swarmed down the hills after him. They tore into what remained of the Witch's army, leveling it as they passed. Once the majority of the warriors were gone, the girls scurried through the wreckage, searching for their brothers.

Peter was standing slightly hunched with pain, eyes locked on Aslan. They called his name joyously, elated to have found him so quickly. He snapped out of his daze to catch Lucy in a strong hug.

Susan faltered before she reached them, scanning desperately for their last sibling. She drew a frightened breath, meeting Peter's weary gaze. "Where's Edmund?"

The eldest sibling gasped, turning sharply to race toward his nightmare, praying feverishly that what he'd seen last was a trick of the Witch. A Dwarf lingered over Edmund's prone form, his dagger lifted high. Without pause for thought, Susan notched an arrow and let it fly, killing the threat to her brother.

Peter fell to his knees by Edmund, reaching for the dark red bloodstain on his tunic but afraid to touch it, to make it worse in any way. Susan fumbled with Edmund's helmet, tossing it aside once it was free. Lucy gasped when a drop of blood slid from the corner of her brother's mouth. She wrenched the cordial from her belt, ripping its top out and leaning forward.

Edmund's dark eyes opened, searching for his family. As his strength left him, so did his vision, but he could feel them despite that, gathered around him. His eyes sunk shut again, opening him to the glowing comfort of Aslan's presence beyond his siblings, and he knew then that they had won. Narnia was free. A smile tugged his lips.

Something warm touched his mouth. Long practice with Deolith trained him to let his lips fall open. A single drop of medicine slid down his throat. He sighed and grew very still.

Peter thought he was dead. He watched Edmund's last breath sigh from him, saw how limply he lay in Susan's lap, and thought he was dead.

In that moment, the world stopped turning.

Aslan's purr thundered behind him, and as though that were a cue, Edmund gave a weak cough. He shifted and blinked, sucking in a deep breath at last. His exhausted gaze moved over his siblings until it landed on Peter

He smiled.

Peter had no memory of reaching for his brother. All he knew was the weight of Edmund, the warmth of him, the steady thrum of his heart and the whisper of his breath. Edmund hummed contentedly, crushed in a tangle of his siblings' arms, and it was such a wonderful turn of events that Peter couldn't help but laugh shakily.

He pulled back to catch Edmund's eyes, his own hands molded to the curve of Edmund's neck, thumbs warm along his jaw. "When are you going to learn to do as you're told?"

Edmund laughed gently, leaning forward to press his forehead to Peter's. When he pulled back, he saw Bellus and Philip and Huaran gathered behind his brother, all of them wild with relief and victory. Beyond them was the Guard and pieces of their armies. Standing above it all was Aslan, glorious and bright as the sun.

His siblings felt his attention shift. They turned to see what had pulled him from them and smiled when they recognized the Lion. Aslan cocked his head meaningfully at Lucy, who returned his thoughtful look for a moment before dropping her gaze to the small diamond bottle by her leg. She hefted it, thinking again, and glanced up in time to see Aslan breathe on a Narnian the way he had back at the Witch's castle. The Faun came back to life, whole and slightly puzzled.

Lucy stood, smiled at her family, and ran across the field to save her people in her own way.

Aslan ran with her, laughing softly.


	9. Epilogue

AN: Technically, it's not yet midnight where I am, so my "tomorrow-ish" statement was, in fact, true. Yay technicalities!

When I say "The End", what I mean is "The End of This Story". I have two more in mind, but they'll be a few months in the making. And, um…long. Because I can't write simple things. Oh what fun we shall have together! See you then, my glorious Narnian friends!

Thank you so much for taking this journey with me. For your reviews and kind thoughts and encouragement, thanks for all of it. You're all fabulous!

Epilogue

They were crowned in Cair Paravel of the Four Thrones, each of them taking their rightful place. When Edmund was named the Just, his people stirred, pleased greatly by Aslan's wisdom.

When Peter was called Magnificent, Edmund's face shone with such fierce pride that Peter ducked his head, humbled and delighted.

Shortly after the festivities began, Edmund snuck away, somewhat overwhelmed. Peter found him sitting on the railing of a balcony, his crown cradled gently in his hands. He studied it solemnly, turning it so it would catch the light.

Because it could sometimes be dangerous to try and guess, Peter asked softly, "What are you thinking, Ed?"

The younger brother glanced back at him, one corner of his mouth ticking up in a sad little smile. He lifted his shoulder in a shrug, dropping his eyes to the crown again.

"Tell me," Peter ordered gently, pulling himself up onto the stone railing so he could sit by his brother.

Edmund took a deep, shaky breath, releasing it in a sigh. "Despite what others might say," he admitted quietly, "there will still be those who remember me as the Winter Prince first. I did things, things I'm not proud of, in what some will call service to _her."_

"You did many difficult things in service to Narnia and Aslan," Peter corrected firmly, mouth set in a stubborn line. "You sacrificed more than anyone, and I will not see you suffer more for it. You're _free _of her, Edmund." Peter reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Edmund leaned heavily against him. Because he could not help himself, but also because he knew how much Edmund sometimes needed it, Peter hid another affectionate kiss in the dark hair. "You did what you set out to do, what Aslan called you to do," he reminded his precious little brother. "Let it be done. Let her be gone."

"I was a prince, Peter," Edmund whispered, eyes shut against his memories. "I was _the _Prince."

"No," Peter laughed, shaking him gently, "I don't think you ever were. You were just waiting to be a king."

Edmund startled, pulling back to look at him. The warmth in Peter's smile, the belief and love in his eyes, melted the last of Edmund's fear, and he smiled back a touch shyly. Peter laughed again, filled with Narnian love and Narnian joy.

"Peter!" Susan called. "Edmund!" They looked back and found her smiling in the doorway to their balcony with Lucy at her side. The littlest Pevensie was giggling helplessly, buoyant with delight. Even standing still, they were bright and beautiful, queens of more grace than any before them. Susan beckoned to her brothers merrily. "Come, Lucy and I are waiting on you for the next song. We can't be expected to dance alone, you know!"

"No," Edmund laughed softly. "Queens never dance alone."

"Let's go then," Peter suggested, hopping down from their seat. He helped Edmund off as well, clasping one of his hands to lead him to their sisters.

Still smiling, Susan took the crown from Ed's hold and settled it gently upon his head. "Perfect," she said. Lucy claimed his free hand, and Susan turned all of them toward the light of the hall, where their people waited.

Surrounded by his family, it was Edmund who took the first step.

The End


End file.
